


A Cupful of Trinkets, A Spoonful of Additives

by An_Ephemeral_Walk



Series: Mixed Media [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: This is a drabble series, Various AU's, break in case of writers block, but also pieces from canon, but i'm not keen on tagging stuff until i know what will really be in here, each chapter will have the pairing in the title if there is one, fanart to be added to some chapters, if not it'll just be a regular title, might even have other games, so it's going to have everyone within the game, the summaries will also be there to help, this is the fun corner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 86,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Ephemeral_Walk/pseuds/An_Ephemeral_Walk
Summary: In case of writer's block, break glass. Be careful however, some Alternate Universes can be waterlogged, or switched around. The amounts of comedy may vary. Forecasts show healthy signs of merry travelers, not a drop of pure angst to be found in the skies. Studies show a walk through the forests of thought lead to increased ideas of varying intensities. This is the home for Ephemeral idea's too small to have healthy dedicated stories of their own, so stop on by when the need to kick back takes hold.





	1. Mers and their quirky pets. (Mer AU, Cuphead)

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. This is the drabble dump zone. Some drabbles will be from the same AU, others will be stand-alones. It's to keep the Muse happy and the ideas flowing at a steady pace. As such, you should be able to pick and choose what you want to read and not get lost. As more things get added, the tags will evolve and I'll be sure to note when one drabble goes with another.

               Ever since he was a baby fry, Mugman had wanted a pet. Upon learning how delicious shrimp scampi was when thieved from the remains of the land walkers above, he’d decided it wouldn’t be a shrimp. Quite unlike his cherry barb brother, honestly Mugman did not see the appeal of a mantis shrimp. Sure, its' ability to burn things in a split second was rather neat, but not entirely impressive. On top of not being something he ate, his pet would have to blend in to his own vivid blue coloring. Being a Fantail Tux Guppy mermaid, he thought it rather pertinent that his future pet not stick out like a sore thumb. His brother only teased his fear of birds until Mugman got too annoyed and brought up Cuphead’s biting fear/hatred for land walkers. it wasn't Mugman's fault nature had given him a perfectly reasonable fear after all. Picky as he was, he’d yet to find the perfect pet. Marty, Cuphead’s, was rather nice, and clearly didn’t mind him, but it wasn’t the same.

               So one day, after ‘scavenging’ a plate of breaded shrimp from a local who really should have watched where they put their plate, he went exploring. Though the waters he usually swam in were warm, he could survive brief excursions into the colder depths. Being a porcelain Mermaid had its perks. He swam down, his tail swaying easily from side to side, his vivid blue scales catching what little light still shown from the surface above. He was on the hunt, not for food, or for another freaky thing to scare his brother. Though, if he did find something that would freak Cuphead out he certainly wouldn’t say no to it. No, he was looking for a companion. And as he swam past a rather large chunk of coral, he spotted it, the most perfect creature he’d ever seen in his life. It was a lovely lighter purple, it had the cutest little grabbers, and it was staring at him with the sweetest expression he’d ever seen.

               He carefully moved closer, waving politely to the little fella. It stared back at him, as if unsure as to how to respond. However, as it didn’t try to flee, he figured they were off to a good start. He gently pressed his palms into the sand a few feet in front of it, and let his body sink closer to the ground. Water swirled around him, playfully moving the blue and white striped straw in his head around a few times.

               “Hello there! My name is Mugman.” Mugman told the little creature and reached out one hand, offering it to the cutie. It looked at him for a few moments, judging him, and then carefully, oh so carefully, it lifted one tiny little grabber, and laid it across Mugman’s fingers. Mugman may, or may not, have let out a tail wiggle of joy and squealed a bit. Only Water saw it, and Water was no nark. Neither was the tiny creature, who very clearly, found amusement in the response. It pulled itself a bit closer to his hand, covering the white porcelain scales with its’ petite body.

               “Would you like to come with me?” Mugman asked, and it figured it had nothing to lose, so it tightened its grip, and felt a brush of Water across its’ skin, ensuring that where ever Mugman went, it could go to and not worry about environment changes. With large, almost comically wide googly eyes, the Stubby Squid stared at its new buddy, taking in the rather pretty blue and black coloring. It, soon named Otto, which it found funny for exactly the same reason as the blue one, decided it could stave off its’ current plans for a little while. The blue one looked to be nice, and Otto did so enjoy discovering new things.

\---0---0---0---

               The red one, Otto could do without. The red one had taken one look at him and laughed. The blue one really was the best, because the blue one had let his apparent family laugh for exactly four seconds, and then yanked the red one’s head clean off and buried it in the sand. He’d then proceeded to ignore the red one in favor of going to the surface to scavenge more food for Otto. The exact second Otto got a nibble of ‘shrimp scampi’ it decided it loved the blue one. The blue one was good. The blue one was safe. The red one would live only as long as the blue one showed fondness for him. After that, Otto would _feast_. Until that time came, he would gladly take amusement from watching the red one try to apologize by offering up the arm of the human that had been the owner of the food the blue one was sharing with him.

               His blue one sighed in fond exasperation, rejected the peace offering, but did brush stray bits of sand out of the string of pearls wrapped around the red one’s handle. His blue one was forgiving, which was good, because Otto was not. It certainly wasn’t going to forgive the violent shrimp perched on the red ones’ shoulder. That sort of language being used around the blue one was unforgivable. Otto resolved himself to relaying this new information to its’ brethren below. As the scout and messenger for the great Deep-Sea rulers, that was part of his job. For now, he’d cuddle up to the blue one and play with the lovely tassel the blue one had tied around his handle. If it had the added affect of making him cuter in the eyes of his blue one, well that was just the bread on the shrimp.

               Yes, when the great lord of the deep awoke from his long slumber and led the Deep-sea rulers on the crusade to destroy the pathetic mortals on the surface, Otto would inform the great lord of his blue one. The great one was always rather amiable to sparing those that pleased his servants. The blue one would most certainly be spared, he might even be allowed to continue feeding Otto the shrimp dishes he’d found. Until the world was eclipsed in never ending destruction and the oceans fully rose up and corralled the surface to easily destroyed chunks, Otto would observe. Otto would see _all_. Otto would tell all to those below the observations he’d already gotten and would surely get more of. Otto would watch the world burn and drown and listen to the pitiful cries of those unworthy of the great lord, begging for mercy _they would never see._ Otto would absolutely like another piece of delicious shrimp, oh, and a few pets!


	2. A Queen returning (Genderbend, Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always miserable when the love of the Devil's life goes on a supply hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, frankly you could see this as either before the two get together, or they are together and have been for a while. Whichever you prefer. Even so, I'll put it up here, hints of snake eyes.

               No one liked it when Queen Dice had to leave the casino for extended periods of time. It wasn’t because the workload suddenly increased for all of them. It also wasn’t because things were less smooth and more hectic. It was Inkwell Hell after all, hectic and varying workloads were the norm. However, the denizens had recently been spoiled with a far less finicky though no less menacing Lady of Hell. Devil was so much more relaxed and less bitey. She had been ever since Queen Dice had finally agreed to work for her. The die headed woman had lit a fire in their leader’s heart and when she wasn’t there to tend to the flames things got dark.

               The first symptom of Queen withdrawal was more snappishness. Before Queen, the workers and demons and sinners were used to a snide and harsh Devil. After Queen, and on withdrawals, she was far worse. Those who annoyed her, or looked at her in a displeasing way, would swiftly learn just how hot the fires of hell could burn. Devil gave no second chances; misplaced paperwork was grounds for being used to feed the furnace. That bit had the added misfortune of having to spend time with Ms. Wheezy, and that woman was built like a wall and had the third most sadistic sense of humor. Ms.Chimes earned top spot on that chart.

               The second symptom was the dramatic increase in stabbings. Now, despite almost constantly having it, Devil didn’t actually use the pitchfork that often. She used to use it to shovel clumps of sinners aside or into pools of anguish. The thing was mostly for extra intimidation since with it near her, attacking or snapping at Devil was tantamount to loudly proclaiming how great it would be to be turned into a boiling puddle of self-loathing. While on Queen withdrawals however, the pitchfork, and her horns, were suddenly her go-to shivs. No one could tell what was worse either, the horns were usually coated with something that upped the pain by an astounding amount. The pitchfork however, curved and could spin as well, turning the innards into the worlds most grotesque smoothie.

               The third symptom thankfully only came out if it had been longer than usual without Queen and that was rare. Currently however, this was one of those situations, much to the displeasure of everyone. They were switching between watching the entrance to the casino, and watching their boss stalk the aisles with hellfire crackling over her ragged and oily fur. She breathed out super-heated air that made anyone or thing too close catch fire instantly. Her eyes glowed a vicious crimson red and her nails had taken to glowing white hot.

               Usually, anyone that could, would have cleared out of the casino like God was standing out to welcome them to heaven. Addiction does funny things however, and the lure of the building ensured the casino workers couldn’t just hide in the employee’s only room. It was utter misery for everyone, even the casino itself seemed to warp and bend just so its’ owner would have a clear path. It was embarrassing really. The esteemed workers of the Devil, desperately moving as little as possible as to not incur their bosses’ wrath. It had almost reached critical ‘someone call Queen and tell her to forget the supply run and come back’. Though at the rate things were going, there’d be no casino for their manager to return to.

               Of course, just as it seemed everything had properly evaded the wrath path, there was a clatter, and a scream, and Pip and Dot descended from the ceiling, dropping an entire chandelier on top of their boss. The metal instantly warped and twisted and seared into Devil’s flesh, burning straight through her fur. She froze, and Ms.Wheezy immediately darted for the phone. Piroulette took cover behind the blast proof employees only door, being joined by Chip Bettigan and Mangosteen. Ms. Chimes gleefully peeked her head over the lip of her machine, eager to see the gore. Pip and Dot sent their fellow workers a tearful wave of good-bye, and hugged one another. Devil let out a powerful foundation shaking roar and her pitchfork popped up in her hand; lit up until it was glowing blue with heat. Her breathing picked up, her form grew in height, the metal of the chandelier melted clean off her body, plopping in glowing pools on the floor around Pip and Dot. Singed and melted flesh reformed in splotch chunks, leaving the bones exposed. Devil snapped her jaw open wider than any snake could ever dream of copying and lunged at her worker.

               “Why boss, here I was thinking you’d greet me with flowers and kisses.” As if dropped from the heavens above, Queen Dice strode through the doors of the casino. At the sound of her voice, Devil went through the fastest shape shift anyone had ever seen. One second she was looming over the domino, the next she was scampering across the ruined carpets and flinging herself into Queen Dices’ chest. The obnoxiously loud purrs mixed with the rather unbecoming sobbing was overtaken by cries of ‘Thank fuck!’ ‘oh sweet mercy above.’ ‘Nevermind Ted, I’ll be cancelling that coffin order.’ And general cheering.

               Queen Dice didn’t even stumble under the sudden weight, she merely pat her boss on the head, right between the horns, and scratched behind Devil’s ear with her other hand. She looked over her bosses head at the other workers, all giving her thankful looks. All but the casino workers that is, they were looking at the ruins of the casino and debating if they should escape from their cover or try to start cleaning before Queen Dice could see the full extent. The casino was Queen Dice’s baby, and her reactions to it being wrecked varied from scarring to downright lethal.

               She began to stroll around, humming a slow but happy tune. The fact that she wasn’t scolding Devil told the others she was plotting. At the realization of what their manager was doing, Piroulette pulled his last will and testament and began looking it over. Ms. Chimes, sadist that she was, just kept watching. As Queen Dice moved through the casino, her shoes crunching on glass and strewn about chips on the utterly decimated carpet, she tightened her grip around Devil. Devil must have sensed something was off when it got to the point where she couldn’t breathe because she immediately began promising to clean up the mess.

               “Honey, my darling, I swear I’ll clean up and make the casino like new again, you can bet on that even! Just, just let me stay here a few minutes more! I’ll even remove the stains on your suit!” Devil pleaded, giving the love of her life the cutest pleading expression she could manage. Queen Dice stopped humming and got a good look at her boss and her workers. She spared only a glance at the guests and started for the stairway that would lead up to Devil’s office.

               “Fine, you can have an hour,” Queen Dice finally said, her tone far more kind than any expected it to be. Ms.Wheezy figured her manager had either found this far more amusing than annoying, or had found good things when hunting for new additions to the casino itself. No one would know fully, and no one truly cared to dig to find out. “But, after that hour, you’ll fix yourself up you scruffy excuse for a demon queen. Then you’ll fix the casino, if I find even a splinter out of place by tomorrow morning, every single person that works in this casino won’t like what I do.”

               She said a few other things, but by then was too far for anyone but the imps to hear. They all heard the doors to Devil’s office open and close, and then silence fell over the casino. Pip and Dot, still on the floor, let out an impressive string of cuss words and flopped over. It was finally peaceful after a day and a half of terror. Everyone slumped where they stood, the guests shuffled out, knowing the drill by now. They locked up again when they heard the door open again, and then heard the distinct click of Queen Dice’s heels as she headed for her personal suite. It was Chip that spoke.

               “Has, has anyone fixed up Manager’s room yet?” She hesitantly asked, knowing the question but fearing the acknowledgement anyway.

               Ms.Wheezy cussed out the heavens above right as the rest heard Queen Dice click open her own door.

               “What in the _hell happened to my room? What did you do to my bed?!”_ They heard Queen Dice scream, there was the sound of sprinting, and then the screaming from their boss began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen Dice is forgiving until she isn't. Shame Devil has rather destructive withdrawal symptoms. The workers got that blast door as a present after the first ten folded like flan in a cupboard.


	3. Rise of Bendipe (BaTIM, AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war gave Henry many things, the biggest three things however, were a lack of damns to give in intense situations, a need to find humor in situations that didn't call for it, and fighting skills he carried with him well afterwards. Shame it didn't give him better naming skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I was thinking drabbles should be short. Ha! This is my own telling of a version of how BaTIM started.

So, here he was. Henry stared up at the odd-looking studio with a rather critical look in his eye. He’d seen shabbier buildings in the war, but that didn’t excuse the sheer decrepit state of the place. He glanced at the note in his hand once more, then back at his bike, then back to the door before him. Figuring he had nothing to lose, nearly dying every day for three years did things to a person. Namely, removed any true ability to fret. Henry had handled it better than a few of his war buddies at least. He’d tried to spread the philosophy of ‘why worry when it’s as easy as either it is your problem, or it won’t be in a minute.’ But that was quite difficult when half the weapons didn’t even fully kill, more maimed while giving a sorry attempt at murder.

As such, he shrugged his shoulders and strode in. The door creaked loudly with each tiny movement, as if it hadn’t been oiled since it was put in place. Frankly, it hadn’t even been a second and Henry was unimpressed and felt a small urge to punch Joey. Rude bastard had the gall to invite him to this place and not even greet him at the door. Though, thinking back on the studio’s golden years, he realized this was classic Joey. His buddy always did have a nasty habit of being a pain in Henry’s ass, but too endearing for Henry to turn Joey’s nose cartilage into the creamiest butter spread. As it was, he watched the largest dust bunny he had ever seen hop across the oddly drawn looking floorboards with a dead expression.

Closing the door behind him, he strode in, gearing up his memory because thirty years was a long ass time and he’d been twenty-two when he’d started the place up with Joey. Joey had crafted one cartoon, he’d crafted another, and the two moseyed on from there. Actually, to his right he noticed his own creation, Bendy the Dancing Demon. Made because he’d thought it be funny as a kid to see a dancing demon. That and it was easy to make his mother think he was just terrible at drawing cats. Joey’s creation was on a poster on the wall further down the entrance hall, Boris the Wolf. Joey had never been all that creative, but damn if it hadn’t been amusing watching Joey near topple over a chair when he’d leaned over to Henry to explain.

“Henry, Boris is the name you’d give a dog. Who would expect a wolf, named Boris! It’s hilarious because I said so and we’ll make it work.” Joey had said with a twinkle that was oddly shaped like a money sign in his eye. Henry had followed along even then, his need to see how far they’d go outshining any warning bells in his head. To his surprise, Bendy was a massive hit. He swept across the nation in his little tutu and endeared himself in the hearts of children and adults. Boris had followed quickly behind, people loving the fact that Boris was more devious than the literal demon. Then the war had kicked into high gear and he’d been shipped off, he figured Joey had too but had never checked. They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, but not bad ones either.

Henry had merely threatened Joey with a beat down so intense his ancestors and descendants would all feel it as far as five generations forward and back. Joey had angrily waved him off, apparently not happy to lose his biggest partner in crime to the snobs back over the pond. That was then, and now was now, and now he was walking around, wondering if the place was how he remembered it. He didn’t remember it looking drawn, that was for sure, and the pipes were new. There were exposed boards in the walls, and the poorest excuse for chairs he’d ever seen. They’d made better chairs in the trenches. That thing looked like it wouldn’t support the weight of a feather much less the Bendy doll on it. He turned his head to focus on words scrawled in ink down the hall and just stared.

“Dreams come true” He got the rather ugly feeling that Joey’s dream fetish had gotten worse while he was gone. He looked at the tiny Bendy and leaned closer. It stared at him with a blank smile.

“Hey, you think Joey knows I’m going to see something I don’t like and follow through? If you see him before I do, tell him I don’t have toast, but I can pistol whip things better than a batter can swing.” He intoned despite the whisper he used. Like he was telling a secret and gave exactly one damn if the secret got out. The Bendy plush stared back at him, and so he nodded, it flopped over and off the chair for no reason, and he stood up, and walked further into the building. It became apparent where all the ink to write the words on the wall came from. A large puddle of ink was seeping through the boards above and soaking the floor below in a rapid drip. He swore he heard no less than fifteen plumbers suddenly lift up their heads in cries of sorrow for the lost pipework.

Turning his head, he spotted a Bendy sketch on the wall, right at the height where it would be a bitch to actually draw. As such, he was rather impressed it looked on model. He told it as much and walked down the darker hall. There was one door with the light on under it and he tried to open it, surprised to find it was locked.

“You’d think Joey would have removed the lock considering he had a strange hatred for them. Maybe as his dream fetish grew he lost the hatred.” He said aloud, and thought, for a moment, he’d heard a wet snort from something in the ceiling. That wasn’t his problem though and thus, he ignored it. He continued on, reading the words ‘Ink Machine’ on the doorway above what could only be described as every mechanics wet dream/nightmare. It looked like an elephant if a drunkard who’d never seen an elephant was told to draw one but was given the description for that weird antelope he’d seen in a book once. It looked like the result of an engineer playing a prank on a mechanic, both of whom were drunk during the design and build. He was so deeply offended by the thing he almost wanted to slap his thoughts on it right on the side for Joey to see, and walk out.

Instead, he walked in, he had no paper after all, and just about felt his heart stop when a large figure came into his peripheral vision. He twisted and spotted a large Bendy cutout and figured he could share his opinion with someone at least. Even if that someone was his brain child. He swore, in some far more alert place in his mind, the cutout’s eyes had twinkled while he ranted for a minute about how _ugly_ the ink machine was. But time was ticking and he didn’t want to be here all day, so he stepped closer and observed the thing no mother/mechanic could love. He swore he heard a whisper of ‘turn it on’ behind him and turned his head to check. The cutout stared back at him from across the room and he gave his brain baby an incredulous expression.

“Just how do you expect me to turn this thing on? Seduce it with promises to make it less pathetic? Bendy I’m an artist and war vet, not a miracle worker.” He scolded, and then started back for the door, figuring he’d explore the rest of the building. Knowing Diva Joey, he’d have to find the balding string bean somewhere inconvenient. He walked past the cutout and headed back down the hall. Turning right, he headed further into the building, looked left, spotted another hall and then looked right. There was another Bendy cutout, and Henry _frowned_. He didn’t think he liked knowing Joey had commissioned his Bendy to be put on life size cutouts. Who knows what that man would do to the devil darling.

He decided to head towards the cutout, as that looked more interesting, and spotted an art desk in the corner. He arched an eyebrow, wondering what sorry animator got the short straw to have their desk be put in such a terrible place. It was most likely the shame desk Joey had claimed he’d put in one day. Moving past it, and giving Bendy a quick wave, he carried on, and watched a board fall from the ceiling and crash down onto the floor in front of him. He stared at it, walked back a few steps so he could see the Bendy cutout, looked at the board, looked at Bendy, and said with as straight a face as he could

“I knew this place would fall apart without me. Who knew it would actually fall for me instead.” And carried on, proud he’d finally gotten to use the joke he’d always wanted to. If he had been able to see behind him, he’d have seen the cutouts smile widen with true mirth. But he couldn’t, and so it remained an unknown to him. He got to the end of that hall and looked both ways. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was really seeing what his eyes were feeding his brain. He fought the urge to grab the Bendy cutout and carry it with him like the world’s most unwieldy teddy bear. Instead, he carefully started down the corridor, visions of what he’d do to Joey growing far more “creative” with every step he took.

Boris, opened up like a cadaver at medical school, was pinned to a table that had a massive tube of ink latched onto it. He scowled deeply at the figure and examined the x-ed out eyes of the black and white toon. He looked around the room, trying to find out any clues as to who decided to play ‘horror movie’ with Joey’s creation. All he found were two candles, fresh in appearance, burning away, and more words written on the wall.

“Who’s laughing now? Well, I can safely say not Boris, and soon to be whoever figured this would be funny. Joey, my vote is on you! I know you had a near obsession with doing things that would make me react! But trying to frame me with murder is right out the deep end!” Henry spoke just above a normal volume. He thought to add the fact that it was clear Joey’s handwriting hadn’t improved, because wow it really hadn’t, but decided against it. Instead, he took a harder look around the room, found a strange ink bottle that he swiftly grabbed, and he strode out of the room. If anyone thought he’d let them put the blame on him for the body in the studio, that was them assuming he’d ever tell anyone. Or that they’d believe him after he had already carefully cultivated his ‘crazy but good with fixing pipes and vehicles, and shoveling, suspiciously good at shoveling’ persona.

He walked down the hall to the other room and felt his frown not only return but return full force. Apparently, someone had decided the best thing to add to the engineer’s drunk hallucination across the way, was to slap the on/off switch, in an entirely different area. Whoever it was, likely Wally if he was being honest, he was going to point and laugh at them for no less than ten annoying minutes. He looked around the room, noting how, for some odd reason, the bottle he’d had in his hands a second ago had suddenly appeared on a pedestal without him noticing its absence.  Now, he _could_ freak out, make a big deal of that, and flee. He could, but the war had taught him things, things like ‘literally everything and its uncle is a trap, and if you trigger it, just let whatever happens happen, if you don’t, you could make it worse’. So, he eyed the pictures behind the pedestals, made a mental note to projectile vomit on the person that made junk be the fuel for the machine, and went back out to get started.

He didn’t get too far, because where it wasn’t before, the Bendy cutout stood, directly under a light. He looked at it for a moment and then gave the biggest disappointed sigh he could. He informed Bendy that standing directly under a light to appear spooky only worked if one was three dimensional, pat him on the head and carried on. He didn’t have time for worrying about Bendy’s sudden independence, he had a machine to turn on if he wanted to deck Joey in the pelvis. Glancing behind him he saw the cutout had turned to face him, but this time it had the board that had fallen before across its body. He gave it a big smile and thumbs up.

“Not great, but that’s better. I don’t think we ever really went over great hide and seek practices so I’ll give you this attempt.” He told Bendy, and went back through the halls, looking for things to match the pictures. The Bendy cutout gained a confused but otherwise happy tilt to its smile.

\---0---0---0---

Henry had found not only three more items, but also his old desk, which, confusingly enough, had a Bendy cutout next to it. He looked at the now weak looking chair and the off model Bendy he’d made when Bendy was being particularly painful to animate. It had a harsh ‘NO’ written next to it, and he wondered if any other animators tried copying the joke version after he’d gone.

“I don’t know if you know this, but during the war, I drew a bunch of comics featuring you for all the guys to take a gander at. It eased the nerves a little. Course, the one with the joke about trying to choke someone with no neck out got soured when our sniper was garroted.” He told the cutout, brushing his hand across the pages. He almost lost himself in memories, but a scuffing sound behind him brought him back out. He turned, unsurprised to find nothing there, evidently the ‘give a damn’ meter was going back down. Instead, the annoyance and ‘need to prank the prankster’ rose up from the depths of his mind. He eyed the Bendy cutout, and then moved on, only giving a single unimpressed frown when he realized the doll, the vinyl record, and the wrench were gone from his pockets.

Carrying on, he found a book down near the running projector. He thought, for one horrified moment, that the ghost of their projectionist was with him, jacking with the equipment again. Norman always did love scaring the newbies. Then he realized he didn’t even know if Norman was dead and continued on. He glanced down at the book he’d picked up and read the title out loud.

“The Illusion of Living, by Joey Drew. Wow, he actually wrote an auto-biography, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Henry said to no one in particular, which was fine, he could laugh at his own jokes. He did, all without moving his mouth so the laugh came from an unsmiling face. After a hearty-- and unnerving/impressive to those that were watching from the walls-- fifteen seconds of laughing without even a twitch of a smile, he went digging for more. He figured he was almost done, and then he spotted the recorder on the wall. Like anyone would, he clicked the button, praying whoever made it had rewound the tape. They had, evidently, when an old co-workers voice came out, and he listened to the man list even more issues with the machine. If his face looked any less surprised, he was certain it would start devouring all surprise in the world.

He walked on, finally discovering the last item if his memory wasn’t failing him in age. Frankly he was glad he’d maintained his dream of not letting himself become a weak old man. He didn’t even feel winded from all the walking so that was a clear sign his exercising efforts weren’t going to waste. He headed back to the room-of-poor-design-choices and squinted to read the screen. He grumbled, wondering if he went searching for nothing because the thing still needed more to work. Loudly proclaiming that Joey should never go near a blueprint ever again, he headed back into the studio’s halls. After a few twists and turns, he noted the suspiciously lit hallway he needed to go down, mentally shrugged, figuring whatever popped out would get a punch in the face either way, and walked down the hall.

He hadn’t expected a Bendy cutout to lean out from behind the corner and peek at him, then dart back behind the wall. He looked up to the wood above and gave a loud sigh. He strode quickly over to the turn and simply turned the corner. The cutout was leaning against the wall, and he swore it was giving him an expectant grin. So he did what that urge told him to. He pulled out a spare inkbrush he’d picked up while wandering, dipped it into a nearby puddle of ink, and drew a mustache on Bendy’s face. The fat one that curled at the ends that he’d seen on a few other drawings. Then he picked up the cutout, and walked into the room, not even blinking at the apparently turned on projector.

“Look Bendipe,” He said, taking on the Spanish accent his war buddy had when saying Bendipe, and he pointed to the screen. “That could be you if they made cardboard… bendy.” He told the cutout, now deemed Bendipe. He strode into the room, found the pressure button, and hit it. Then he walked back out the room, and carried on down the hall, ready to flip the switch and knock every tooth down Joey’s throat. Had he been looking at the cutout, he’d see the blatantly stunned expression on its supposedly stagnant face. He didn’t, so it went unnoticed by him.

\---0---0---0---

The two wandered back to the room with the silly pedestals, Henry waving to every cutout and giving each increasingly silly names. There was only one Bendipe however, only one, and that one was his new buddy. He told Bendipe as much, after expressing to Bondo that he wasn’t willing to carry a buddy for Bendipe. He apologized to Boondoondee for not having the ability to draw a mustache on him like he had Bendipe. In his wake he left cutouts desperately wishing they could laugh, and a creature in the walls urgently trying to get to the lower floors so he could laugh hysterically and get back up in time for the machine to turn on.

\---0---0---0---

Henry adjusted Bendipe so he too could watch Henry flip the lever, and upon doing so, the lights flickered a few times, and the ones around him went out. Henry stared with empty eyes at the ink splurting out of the lever and Bendipe noted a marked increase in disappointment coming from Henry, not that he could say anything, being a cutout and all. The two silently walked back to the ink machine room, and once more, Henry paused. The doorway had been boarded up. He glanced at Bendipe and headed to see how well placed the boards were. Right as he got within arm’s length, a black, inky, goopy, Bendy reject looking thing sprang out from the boards and was promptly punched directly in the face. The creature toppled back and Henry turned to Bendipe.

“Bendipe, violence is never the answer, never do what I did, it’s rude. Bentony! Get your act together! That was even worse that Bendipe’s hiding attempts!” Henry told the frozen figure on the ground and then he turned, and he got the horrible realization that the ink creature had left ink all over his fist, and thus, could leave ink on Bendipe. He let out the most impressive string of cusses any of them had ever heard and broke into a dead sprint down the halls. Ink began to rise from the floor, and thousands of plumbers let out a cry that could mimic the mating cry of a hundred whales. Henry hefted Bendipe higher and started telling Bendipe he’d do everything in his power to ensure Bendipe and his mustache survived. Of course, right as he got a few feet from the exit, the floor gave out, and Bendipe was suddenly being used as a parachute. Henry, who had blanked out, watched the ink pour down around them. Then, he smashed into the floor below, only slowed a tad by Bendipe, and he fainted.

The last thing Bendipe heard Henry mutter was frankly the most gruesome and descriptive vow of revenge on Joey. From above,  newly named Bentony wheezed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as a note, I'm actually not that great a fan of Batim. I'm mostly disappointed and don't really like when people compare it to Cuphead. The only thing the two can claim is "inspired by 30's cartoons" and even that is weak. I think Cuphead handled the inspiration far better. However, I'm not entirely turned away from Batim. This does mean that anything I write for it will not be serious. I did love the first chapter when it first came out, so here we are. There might be more of Bendipe. Okay there definitely will.


	4. Job hunts (Mermaid AU, Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to chase the grandkids out of the house than by forcing them to find something to do for the summer? There are no pairings here.

Apparently, becoming an octopus/cuttlefish babysitter was not a proper summer activity, according to Elder Kettle. Nor was drawing a little fighting ring into the sand, talking water into not ruining it, and then pitting various other normal shrimp against ones’ pet mantis shrimp. Cuphead thought that was stupid, it was a perfectly legitimate activity, and it entertained his little Marty. Anything that bolstered his little buddy’s punching ability, and distracted Cuphead from how many frankly terrifying octopus had creepily gathered around his sibling, was welcome. Not that he told Mugman that. The last time he’d remarked about how suspicious Otto was, Mugman had scoffed and teased Cuphead for being afraid of a tiny little “cutie-fish”. Cuphead thought that was even more stupid, it wasn’t Mugman that had discovered what could only have been a cult octopus meeting in their room with Otto being the clear leader.

As it was, he’d decided to head out and find something better to do. Elder Kettle had been giving him disappointed stares and Cuphead couldn’t take it anymore. Mugman had been trying as well, but being the amazing big brother he was, Cuphead had found the answer first. He went scavenging for his sibling, a slip of paper in his hand and an eager sway to his tail. He knew his brother loved hanging about the reef with the remains of a giant bell so he started there.

Unsurprisingly, he did indeed find his brother swimming around the clear waters of the former land walker settlement. He seemed to be trying to get at something buried in the sand, and thus, was properly distracted for a good old scare. Cuphead slowed his movements and carefully maneuvered his way around until he was at Mugman’s back, then carefully flicked his tail side to side until he was barely an arm’s length away. Fins twitching in excitement, he dug his fingers into the rock under him and lunged. Mugman’s fins flared out in fright and his tail lashed out but it was far too slow. Gorgeous fan tails did not lend to battle prowess after all. Cuphead shoved him into the sand and the two scuffled for a good handful of minutes. After the sand had cleared, Cuphead was the clear winner. Being the one with a heavier build and all, and Mugman stared off into the sea above, a dark promise of retribution clear in his eyes.

“Hey Mugs! Guess what?” Cuphead said, draping himself halfway across his siblings abdomen.

“You’ve gained a sudden appreciation for waking up missing your head and being unable to find it until Elder Kettle takes pity?” Mugman replied, not even bothering to try and push his brother off.

“Well no, but! Your amazing big brother has solved our summer problem!” Cuphead pushed off the sand and his body lifted tail end up until he floated upside down above Mugman. The blue fantail guppy seemed to let go of his annoyance for curiosity, but Cuphead knew he was going to have to be careful for at least a week.

“What did you find?” Mugman asked, wondering if his brother had figured out how to wipe out an entire town finally. His brother’s hatred for the people who needed help breathing in water, though warranted, was a bit too powerful at times.

“So, you know that one creepy Devil guy? Ya know, the ghost fish fella that sometimes isn’t a ghost fish and ate a sea witch a while back?” Cuphead said.

“Oh you mean the one Elder told us to never go near? Because he might teach us things Elder doesn’t want us knowing? Like how to wipe out entire towns of ‘cheating, unsportsmanlike, weak, lame air huffers’?” Mugman replied, one eyebrow arched high.

“Well yeah, but that isn’t what this is about nor what it should focus on. No, your amazing big brother-“

“My _only_ big brother.”

“And _greatest ever because I wasn’t eaten so there,_ brother, wandered into his turf, and did you know he has a bunch of tiny piranhas swimming around? He does! So they’re a real playful bunch but not all that great at coordinating. So I may, or may not, have taught a few of them how to ambush and that Devil guy had been watching and apparently I was so good at it, he offered to repay me for it.”

By this point Mugman had floated off the ground and his tail was flicking in agitation near Cuphead’s face. Cuphead figured he had a very, very short amount of time to finish explaining and hopefully win his far craftier sibling over to this idea. Mugman was not joking about hiding his skull after all. He’d done it plenty of times before, and half the time Elder Kettle had to take pity and guide his headless body back to him. So Cuphead continued, unraveling the paper so Mugman could see it.

“So you see, being the kind sibling I am, I mentioned that I couldn’t possibly leave you alone for so long, so you get to join me! He’s got this swanky building down there where a bunch of adults go and it’s really nifty. I think we should give it a chance!” Cuphead finished and let Mugman take the paper. The hostile twitch was gone from Mugman’s fins and Cuphead grew even more hopeful. Mugman looked at the paper, reading it, figuring his brother was far too impulsive to actually read something while he was excited about something.

“It says we’re his apprentices and will be helping out where ever the manager decides to put us. He, in turn, promises to… spare our souls? Cuphead what in – _did you forge my signature?!_ ” Mugman finished with a screech, his tail lashing violently. Cuphead, who had forgotten that little tidbit, tried to swim a bit further back. It did nothing to save him from having his head torn off in the next second and shoved into the sand face first. The two would scuffle for a while until Elder Kettle had to go and find them. Upon learning the reason for the scuffle, he’d bonked Cuphead upside the handle with his cane and loudly wondered where he’d gone wrong. No one had the answer for him. No one ever would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do love thinking of ways that the mermaid versions would wind up working for Devil. This is simply one of them.


	5. Bendipe:round 3 (Batim AU, Batim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three, done differently. There are no pairings.

Henry officially did not care for ink or the things within said ink. He also wondered just when the studio got so big. That wasn’t the biggest question at the moment however, and so he shuffled it aside while adjusting Bendipe in his grip. He’d just finished ‘escaping’ Bentony, though that hadn’t been so hard. Apparently Bentony hadn’t expected Henry to go into a rage at seeing a splotch of ink on Bendipe’s face and flat out punt a barrel right at _his_ face. Bentony, soon to be renamed to something even sillier because he still wasn’t forgiven, had gone down _hard._ He hadn’t come back up until Henry was led to a door with a living Boris. How Boris was suddenly alive, Henry didn’t care to ask. That machine was so poorly built he wouldn’t be surprised if it pumped out pathetic copies in a sad attempt to be something not designed by a toddler hopped up on coffee.

Now, Henry remembered Boris. Boris was rather antagonistic towards Bendy, always spooking him or picking on him. Therefore, he’d been entirely justified to not trust the creation of the ass that had lead him here in the first place. Boris had gestured for him to follow and then had basically demanded he make soup in order to be allowed to leave. He’d given Henry a place to rest for a while though, and had allowed Henry plenty of time to sleep. After that though, the demand for soup was shoved at Henry once more. Henry, knowing the axes in the studio were made of what had to be drift wood, scrap metal and a sneeze of glue with how fragile they were, had no real ability to “request” otherwise. Bendipe at least seemed highly amused by everything. His static grin looked a bit less ‘just drawn there’ and more genuine. Boris didn’t seem to be too comfortable with Bendipe around but Henry didn’t care.

After shuffling around and gathering a few things of soup, falling asleep partway to walking back to start heating up the soup and waking up to find a fully cleaned—minus the ‘stache-- Bendipe and Boris peeking at him from the doorway a little ways away. He figured he’d been out for an hour, the nap he’d had earlier clearly not enough, and didn’t bother to apologize. He simply wiped the drool off his face, happily greeted Bendipe and Boris, and dropped the soup into the pot. Boris had guzzled down the soup, to the fascination of both Henry and Bendipe, and then had given them the lever to escape. Henry immediately knew where Boris got that annoying habit and had whispered

“He gets the need to make you do inconvenient, annoying, and pointless things, from his dad. Don’t ever let him do that to you Bendipe, you’re top dog here.” To Bendipe. Bendipe, to his credit, had just stared like he’d been doing, so Henry gladly took it to mean he was listening. He was listening too, it’s just, telling Henry was something he _couldn’t_ do, but he figured that was pointless anyway.

\---0---0---0---

Boris had decided that coming with the two was a good idea, or, more realistically, an entertaining one. He led the way, pausing to stare pointedly at the little miracle station. Henry had been more interested in actively arguing with “Bendipe” about whether he could carry Boondknee as well. He swore the cutout was daring him to make a sound and he carefully shook his head. Henry eventually did notice the thing, put Boondknee in it, declaring him safe now, and then he and the Bendy cutout continued. Boris thought he heard screeching from the walls, but not the angry kind. He very carefully chose not to point that out and hurried to follow.

\---0---0---0---

The three peered into the dark corridor with varying expressions. Bendipe, mustache perfectly in place, stared at the door frame because that’s the direction he was facing. Boris looked nervous and entirely unwilling to move until he could see better. Henry, the most fragile out of all of them, looked ready to just walk right in. He did, in fact, start ahead until Boris stomped his foot, looked around him, and held up a rather hefty looking flashlight. Henry obediently walked back and took the flashlight, turning it on and pointing it down the corridor. He then spent a solid minute silently staring, as if trying to figure out how to word what he was thinking.

“Boris, this thing couldn’t light up a shoebox much less this entire area,” Henry hefted the light up and down a bit, testing the weight; his expression changed. “Oh never mind, this is perfect. It’s like the bat I wish I had! Thanks Boris.” He said and Boris got the distinct impression he shouldn’t have given the thing to Henry.

\---0---0---0---

Henry stared at the door that stubbornly refused to open. He looked around for a panel and instead spotted a comically huge grate. He’d looked at the door, looked at Bendipe, looked at Boris, and then back at the door. He seemed, at least to his silent watchers, to be debating on what level of violence would be required to open the door.

“Does anyone have a wrench of some sort? Or, maybe know someone really strong?” He asked them, knowing they wouldn’t answer. To prove him right and wrong at the same time, Boris ignored him in favor of the grate and crawled into the vents. Henry rather belatedly noticed Boris did not take the flashlight, and by this point wondered if Boris had been hoping that Henry would be weighted down by the thing and would be an easy kill. After dealing with the ink thing claiming to be Sammy he felt he was justified in being suspicious. He really did hope Sammy was alive to forgive him for doing what he did to ensure Bendipe’s safety. The door opening and Boris not returning drew him back from his thoughts and he was met with a flat out unnecessary Bendy head drawn on the wall down the hall. He looked at Bendipe, he looked at the Bendy face, he looked at Bendipe, and he slowly pulled out his brush, and the tiny bottle of ink he’d found.

\---0---0---0---

It would be much later that Bonchie, formerly Bentony, would find the drawing and would have to stick his head into an ink portal to scream where no one could hear. What else was he supposed to do when presented with his on model face now sporting a pencil thin mustache and a beret that was comically tiny and perched on one horn? Bonchie was fairly certain it was ‘Benchie the frenchie’ written underneath that got him to just give up.

\---0---0---0---

Henry looked at the huge toy factory in awe. He couldn’t recall seeing such lavish mismanagement of funds in _years_. He didn’t think he could get more impressed with how shoddily designed the place was but boy was he wrong. He noticed the giant Bendy plush and put Bendipe down to flop onto the plush and held his breath until the dust settled.

“Worth it, that was worth it. It’s like being hugged by an old friend. A dusty friend but a friend none the less. Bendipe, if we make it to Joey, remind me to spare him one punch for commissioning this.” Henry’s voice was muffled under the arm of the Bendy plush but it was heard none the less. Henry’s gaze lazily wandered about the room, taking in everything while Bendipe watched beside him. Henry watched the ink waterfall, entirely unsurprised the machine was so poorly built it was jacked up even this far down. He bet his entire life savings that the thing had all the finish of that French tank from the first Great War, the Saint-Chamond if he remembered right. It looked ugly, it functioned poorly, and it was bested by the dumbest thing imaginable. Where that tank had been bested by slightly larger trench openings and potholes, the ink machine was bested by its’ own ink.

He heaved himself up, not minding the dust bunnies clinging to his ink stained clothing, and moved forward. Now, he could have said many things about a “Heavenly Toy’s” factory being in the belly of a defective and clearly demonic in cliché ways studio. He didn’t however, because he had better things to do. Like mock the clearly sub-par design work.

“Oh how ever shall we be sure that everyone knows this is a factory Mr.Drew?” Henry changed the pitch of his voice to be higher and then dropped it to respond to himself. “Gears my friend, gears everywhere. Make it look like a machine projectile vomited its innards all over the walls! No, _no_ , don’t make them useful or functional. That is simply going too far.” Henry laughed, once more without smiling, at his own little joke. It was at that point he noticed the giant Bendy on the back of the main machine in the middle of the room. He looked at it, looked at Bendipe, looked at the pocket with the brush and tiny ink pot, and then back at the giant Bendy. Bendipe watched a tiny bead of sweat roll down Henry’s temple and suddenly wished he could talk. Henry looked at the giant gap between him and the Bendy drawing, and honest to ink _whined_. Unable to do what he wanted, which was draw, he sent one utterly devastated look towards the towering Bendy drawing and shuffled forward.

\---0---0---0---

The resulting scream of “Every machine in this damn place was designed by a dartboard and drunk architects! Joey can’t-design-a-box-much-less-a-conveyor-belt Drew, when I get to you I’m going to drown you in your own incompetence!” upon seeing the next room was so great, a lone searcher hiccupped in surprise three floors up.

\---0---0---0---

“Bendipe, if I don’t make it, please, roll Drew in ink and throw him in a vat of glitter.” Henry spoke like a man who was on his last legs. Bendipe smiled like he hadn’t seen such entertainment in years.

\---0---0---0---

Henry listened to the tape, poked the strange ink thing with his brush a couple times, and then got the, in his words, shoddiest excuse of a belt system working. Then, just to spite whatever needed the thing next, sacrificed a few more plush toys and jammed the belts back up.

Once entering the next room, he immediately spotted a problem. The room looked like it was made by an Alice Angel fanatic. Now, one of the only things he  knew about Alice was that she was supposed to be the fake kind of sweet. That sweet that’s so blatantly sour that it reverts back to sweet. He set Bendipe down, and then activated “Operation: I can’t believe this works”. Namely, he sat down behind Bendipe and suddenly was invisible to everything hostile. Now, what he didn’t know, was that upon using that tactic, Bendipe gained an expression only a demon could have. It flat out _vowed_ agony to any sorry drop of ink that so much as touched Bendipe. As such, everything that wasn’t missing all but two brain cells avoided the ever loving hell out of that cutout.

Moments later Henry was proven right to start up his method of hiding because the door behind him slammed closed and Alice Angel’s song kicked on along with the televisions in the room.  The lights went out and Henry let out a quiet sigh, it appeared like every single person he’d run into had to be a diva. First it was Bendipe, but Bendipe was forgiven. Then it was Bonchie who learned a thing about surprise scares. Sammy, the searcher things, the list went on. Apparently he was going to be adding whoever had a crush on Alice Angel to the list next. As the song carried on, he got the distinct impression something was going to try and jumpscare him, and the prankster in him figured ‘why not?’ so he carefully inched Bendipe closer to the glass across the room. He stopped once he was halfway away, and then hefted up the axe head he still had with him. Scrap metal held together by glue fart it may be, it would still work for his plan.

There was a scream that overlaid the song, there was the sound of something slamming on glass, and Henry waited just long enough to hear the sudden pause and confused noise. Then, with practice he’d gained from the war, he popped up, and flung the axe head at the glass as hard as he could. The blade shattered the glass and the woman screeched. Of course the blade turned to fairy dust after doing its job but he loved it none the less. Especially since it had allowed him to one up someone without punching them. Or… doing what he’d done to Sammy. Really, he truly hoped Sammy could forgive him. The banjo had just been the closest thing on hand, and he’d panicked.

“What?!”

“Oh wow. What? Did your artist sneeze on you while inking you in? Alice you look like you fought a bear trap and lost. You-“ Henry decided treating her politely simply wasn’t going to happen, so he buried the metaphorical hatchet and went for broke. Alice angrily banging on the glass and snarling at him made him pause.

“You horrid creator! You’re the reason I’m like this!” She screeched, her voice reaching octaves that would have opera singers proud. Hell, Henry was impressed, then remembered she was a singer, and then continued to  impressed.

“Alice, first of all, you started it. Second of all, it’s wonderful to see you. I wish I could say you look great but we both know I’d be lying.” Henry felt a part of him wonder why he didn’t like her when he had no reason to not like her. The larger part punted that part into a vat of reality and harshly gestured to the door that had slammed closed behind him and then at the clear evidence that she had been planning on startling a frail old man. Granted, he wasn’t really frail, but she didn’t know that and thus, it was rude. She looked ready to tear his face off and wear his flesh like a pelt, but instead she heaved out a large sigh, and between one flicker of the lights and the next, she was gone. Instead, an intercom he couldn’t see and didn’t bother to look for kicked on.

“Such a rude fly I’ve caught in my web. Perhaps a walk with the angels will cure you of that _sin_.”

Henry arched one eyebrow and picked Bendipe up. Bendipe, who had been so upset that he couldn’t point and laugh at Alice and was so glad the creator was back because no amount of drinking game Tuesday could match up to this. The door opened, and he was carried out by the greatest dad ever.

\---0---0---0---

It was no surprise that Henry picked the demon path. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he changed which sign pointed to which path before he left though, and, to at least to two people, it wasn’t. He’d listened to the tape Joey had left, had  found the nearest dry spot to safely place Bendipe, and then had hysterically laughed at the tape, not even the hint of a smile could be found on his face.

“Well I tell you what Joey, I believe I’m going to be punching you in the pelvis when I find you. I believe that you’ll wish you’d never called me back. I believe I’m going to carve your ass like a pumpkin and _you_ can believe no amount of prayer will save you.” Henry spoke plainly, a no nonsense look on his face. Sure, he figured violence was not the answer, but it was a great addition to certain retorts. He wondered, while he retrieved Bendipe, if all the bacon soup he’d horked down had anything to do with his increasing saltiness.

\---0---0---0---

They walked along the absurdly long path until another Bendy cutout popped out and Henry paused. He swore he heard a hiss come from Bendipe but decided that was from one of the god-awful pipes in the walls instead. Henry turned the corner and blinked at Boris. Boris who looked expectantly at him. Boris who had very clearly been trying to startle Henry. Henry had news for Boris.

“Bendipe already did that Boris. It was a solid effort, but it was wasted on me. I appreciate the form though, it was very seamless.” He informed Boris. Boris slumped a bit and whined. Henry pat him on the shoulder and continued on, figuring Boris would follow like the strange brain child of Joey’s that he was. Boris offered him a pipe and Henry let out a noise that reminded the listeners of a balloon deflating and a person on the edge of hysterics. He politely gave it back and opened the door. Boris thought to insist on it but the two cutouts were giving him rather terrifying looks, so he let it go.

The room they walked into made Henry believe Alice had used this place to store everything not angelic enough.  There was a comical amount of clocks all ticking away, offending Henry down to his marrow. Why they wouldn’t make Bendy’s head go up and down to make the tick tock noise, he’d never know, but he’d always hate them for not doing. He was proven right upon finding the ink stained large Alice plush in the back corner, hidden behind a bunch of poorly placed shelves like one would a body they weren’t ready to stuff under concrete yet. He wandered back, careful to not get any ink on Bendipe and carried on to find Boris waiting near a stone Bendy statue.

“Do…you think this was Joey’s way of being less lonely? He said I was his good friend and then told me I was one of his only friends. Do you think he was using Bendy to pretend I was still around? I really hope not. I don’t need to add ‘treated my brain child like a stand-in’ to the list of reasons to make Joey eat his own pancreas.” Henry told Boris. Boris gained the look of someone that had sniffed a mysterious sock and regret it immediately.

“Yeah, Joey wasn’t that looney, you’re right. He probably did this to be sure no one could forget what Bendy looked like on model. He went a bit far with it, but he didn’t go to any classes on interior decorating…” Henry got an eyeful of the wires leading to a switch and then what was likely another switch down the hallway around a corner. He may, or may not, have spent five solid minutes questioning Boris on how drunk Joey had been while making the place. Boris had no answers. Boris wished he had something to wipe the scarily blank look off of Henry’s face. Bendipe smiled on.

Henry eventually figured he had to use inconvenient design #33 and trudged down the hall. He spotted a poster for characters he didn’t recognize after turning the corner, and the war vet in him perked up. He placed Bendipe down and strolled forward, there was no way he was risking his devil damnigo. His inner war vet was proven correct when a new ink creature tore out of a hole in the wall. It screamed. Boris down the hall screamed. Bendipe geared up to watch. Bonchie waited. Henry, who realized if he hadn’t left Bendipe back where he had, would have lost Bendipe to the things mad swing, lost it.

“ _Have you lost your mind? Get your ass out that stupid fu-_.” Henry dragged the creature out of the hole kicking and screaming and proceeded to beat the fear of old men into it. There was a point where it seemed to be trying to apologize so Henry took that as a sign to lob the sorry bastard back into where it popped out from and call for Boris to flip the switch on his side of the room. Bendipe, pristine of all ink, mustache now a permanent fixture of his face, smiled away.

\---0---0---0---

Henry had no idea when the Studio had reached such a size that an elevator was needed, but it looked like a gorgeous piece of machinery and he grinned. It was ruined when Alice’s voice came back with a  vengeance and forced him to go visit her. He definitely laughed, smile now missing from his face, at the date comment. He gave them no reason for the laughter, but the amused expression gave them all the answer they needed.

“Go on, step out of your cage. There’s a whole twisted world out here.” She said as the elevator opened up to a darkly lit room. The two stepped out, and Henry noticed all the ink splattered about the room. He noted the Bendy cutout across the way and the door across a bridge. As that was where Boris ran towards, Henry followed, slower and alert of everything.

They moved through the thick sounding door—Henry wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing was powered by two cutouts with weights taped to their heads spinning giant wheels—and down the hall. Boris charged ahead, seemingly eager to find Alice. Henry didn’t see the appeal, there were far better things to look at after all. Like a cheese grater he swore he saw not too long ago. A violin from the music department. That one really old shoe he found in a back room that for some horrifying reason smelled like tomato juice. The list went on and on while Henry walked at a more sedated pace. He momentarily paused to consider drawing angry eyebrows on the Alice Angel cutout.

\---0---0---0---

He was so glad he’d given into drawing not only angry eyebrows but also a monocle on the cutout. The sea of cut open Boris’s and other cartoon characters was gross and uncalled for and he now knew who did the interior decorating. That wasn’t important though, what was important was the fact that Boris was just staring at his corpse. He distinctly recalled promising to make whoever did that to the Boris he’d first seen never laugh again so he was fairly glad he was about to check something off his list of things to do here. Alice started droning on about something he didn’t really care about. Henry was a man on a mission.

“It took so many of them to make me beautiful.” She said, and Henry responded.

“I love your confidence Alice! Never lose that, do try to lose the murderous tendencies though.” He called out, not too caring if she heard or not. The pause indicated she had but he could only assume.

“I had to do it. She made me.”

“Wait are you telling me there’s a gun toting loony toon threatening murder of you don’t do what they say? That’s about the only way I could see you actually being forced to do anything Alice. You’re a fallen angel, not a fallen damsel.” He replied. He didn’t much mind that she didn’t continue and carried on spending as much time as he could not going where she wanted. She had carved up Boris and he didn’t like that, not one bit. He listened to the voice actresses tape and wondered about life for a moment.

“Bendipe, if I ever get that needy and dependent towards you or Bendy, you can smack me, maybe even push me off the nearest high ledge. I won’t judge.” He figured it was a trick of the light that made Bendipe’s head twitch in a nod. Either way, he was satisfied and finally trekked over to the door. He stopped to draw a unibrow on the Alice cutout, and then he heard the unimpressed hum. He slowly turned his head, flicked Bendipe on the horn for not telling him about the audience, and cleared his throat. Alice stared at him from behind more glass, her face the picture definition of ‘not amused’.

“Now comes the question. Do I kill you? Do I tear you apart to my heart’s delight? The choices of the beautiful are unbearable.”

“Amongst other things,” Henry interrupted her, unwilling to let her get any sort of upper hand. “I mean, I’m fairly certain your ego is so unbearably strong you could use it as a weapon.” She glowered him, annoyed he’d ruined her speech…again. She was even less fond of the _thing_ he was carrying with him, and though a part of her wanted to question it, a tiny, buried part told her to let it go.

“Take this little freak for example,” She decided to power on and continue, hoping that would at least sort of spite him. She got the distinct impression it didn’t. “He crawled in here…trailing his tainted ink to my door! It could have touched me! It could have pulled me back! Do you know what it’s like? Living in the dark puddles?” She lost herself a bit in the memories, her gaze blurring, though it was locked on him still. “It’s a buzzing, screaming well of voices! Bits of your mind swimming like fish in a bowl. The first time I was born, I was a wiggling, pulsing, shapeless slug.”

“You would have hated the trenches, since you basically described them up to the slug bit.” He spoke up finally, entirely unimpressed she had ripped open a ribcage and strung up an entire room of ink creatures. He’d survived a war zone for heaven’s sake, he had every right to judge. “If you wanted to avoid tainted ink, I don’t think wading through it to string up the rejects was an entirely bright idea.”

“I will _not let the demon touch me again._ I’m so close now! So…almost perfect!” She cried out, fingers digging into the wood of the podium before her. She clearly hadn’t heard him. Henry’s face fell even further. Bendipe’s face twisted into a sinister grin. It snapped back when Henry glanced at him and remained steady even after Henry had returned his gaze to Alice.

“I’ll spare you, for now. Better yet. I’ll even let you ascend and leave this place. If you do a few eensy weensy little favors for me first.” She should have, but didn’t, expect Henry to laugh. Eerily enough, he didn’t smile at all while laughing. She really didn’t know how to take that, so she let him have at it.

“Well first of all, there are stairs leading up and I don’t _want_ to go up. Second, I know how to rewire things, learned it in the war. Got a tank so messed up it could only drive backwards. Third, I’ll do things for you if you ask nicely, I’ve got some time to spare after all, Alnerce.” Henry turned to head back out, not willing to stick around much longer. He was going to make her regret trying to demand he do stuff after leaving the body up there for anyone to stumble on. That was poor manners at the best of times. She thunked her head onto the podium and groaned, already wondering why she even bothered. Bendipe, even if he could, wouldn’t have told her it was about to get worse. He was such a sucker for his dear old creator, and demons didn’t snitch.

\---0---0---0---

“I’ll make this simple, look for valve…what… No don’t break-“ There was an impressive bang and the wooden board that acted as a blockade went flying. Henry gave the door an innocent expression, mirrored by Bendipe.

“Please don’t make me regret sparing you, I can always change my mind.” At the threat, Henry casually twisted the actuator that moved board until it let out a screech, sparks shot out and then went silent.

“Boy I don’t like blockades, they always stop me right in my tracks.” Henry spoke, a merry glint in his eyes.

“Just…get me power cores from the valves, you’re _strong_ enough to figure out how to work them, I’m sure.” A plunger appeared in what could only be a mail box repurposed to give what Henry firmly believed to be the most useless things. The plunger rested innocently on the metal flap and he looked between it, the door, and Bendipe.

“We’re really plunging headfirst into this one, aren’t we amigo?” Henry joked. Alice groaned. Bendipe stared ahead. Henry was pleased. He figured it would at least be comedic to bash things upside the head with the plunger.

\---0---0---0---

‘Beware the Ink Demon’ she had said. Henry was afraid he could never do that again. It was absolutely Bonte Cristo’s fault though. Henry had just innocently been walking, chatting away with Bendipe, and then the entire room had gone ‘Ink Machine tentacle dream’. Henry had activated his fool-proof tactic, plopped Bendipe down and had hunkered behind him with the plunger in hand. Bonte Cristo appeared, leaving gross shadowy ink tentacles all over the walls and floor and limped over to Bendipe. Henry could swear the two were having a conversation because Bonte Cristo stood in front of Bendipe far too long. He didn’t think he’d ever truly know though, and so, he’d quietly pulled a piece of jerky from his shirt pocket and munched away, content to wait.

Finally, Bonte Cristo shambled off, but not before hissing at his darling Bendipe, and Henry simply couldn’t let that go. So, waiting for Bonte Cristo to look away, he’d repeated what he’d done to Alonce. The plunger flew through the air and stuck to the back of Bonte Cristo’s head. Henry ducked down behind Bendipe and then had the longest minute of his life. It was oh so hard trying not to laugh hysterically while watching Bonte Cristo storm up and down the hall screeching angrily and flailing while a plunger swung about on the back of his head.

\--0---0---0---

The joy of being connected to every other Bendy Cutout, meant that the vision of their three dimensional off model version throwing a hissy fit with a plunger on his head was broadcast across the entire studio. It was such a sweet vision that many cutouts actually shattered from how hard they were trying to laugh and not laugh at the same time. Even being repaired didn’t erase the image, and nothing ever would. Bendipe idly wished that Henry had nailed the three dimensional one in the face instead and had a hope that the plunger would fall off so the two could retrieve it. That hope was shared among all of them. “Bendy” took note of this, screamed out “Insubordination!” at the top of his lungs, and vanished into a portal. The plunger fell off of him just before he cleared the portal, and it was indeed picked up by Henry. There was much rejoicing.

\---0---0---0---

The fact that Boris was doing exactly nothing to help Henry didn’t surprise him. Thus far only Bendipe had proven to be a true ally in the studio. Henry was finding more use out of the damn plunger; and wasn’t _that_ an insult to Joey’s creation. Hell, when Alooce demanded he give the plunger back, he’d refused and gotten her angry enough she screamed over the intercom and let him go. Telling him he’d regret not taking the wrench. So he took the wrench while she was steaming and kept the plunger and bailed out of the room. She noticed one floor later and said nothing. She thought many things, but she said nothing.

Henry had been casually going about her demands, using his tactic to avoid combat and take even more time to get around. Of course, when the supposed hoard of tainted ink creatures “came to take his Angel, he had sat back and watched from atop the machine that gave him the things she thought he’d need. He claimed it was because he was going to help her get over her fears of her fellow toons. Bendipe was told it was because she wasn’t his angel and he wasn’t a body guard. Turned out, the door held up marvelously and the toons had eventually shuffled off. To make her less upset, he had thrown the wrench at the back of one of their heads. Unfortunately that had attracted their attention and he’d been stuck perched in his high spot with Bendipe held above his head for a solid three minutes.

Henry hadn’t even bothered to touch the Tommy Gun, and with nothing stopping him, he simply nodded to let her know he was ready as ever to greet an old friend and find her a heart. Maybe it was because he’d just finished reading the Wizard of Oz, but he snorted and waited for her to finish her monologue before he’d spoke up.

“You hear that Bendipe, she’s looking for a heart. I bet the next thing we’ll be sent for are either brains, a bit of courage, or she’ll want my shoes and I’ll learn that all I had to do to get out was click my heels three times. There’s no place like home after all.”

“Oh you’ll be needing a bit of courage to survive the old friend. Be careful Henry, he’ll light you up if you aren’t.” Alice had retorted over the speaker. She then spent two minutes ranting about how she’d stooped to his level and she hated him for it, but only she and the ink would ever know about that.

\---0---0---0---

The first thing Henry did once the elevator reached the fourteenth floor was remark on the smell.

“Oh, it smells like that one time everyone in the studio was having that party, and someone got it in their heads to dare everyone to take a shot of ink. Our projectionist, Norman Polk, projectile vomited all over Wally’s shirt and pants. Sammy actually made it to a toilet but that was only because we’d had the shin-dig in the music department. Joey somehow wound up cringing so hard he actually broke his chair. See, the best part was I was fine, so I won the tiny plastic crown one of the others had pried off a doll’s head.” Henry had an affectionate, nostalgic expression on his face.

“Good times, good... sweet unholy cheddar snaps on Jesus’s nipples that is a lot of ink.” The ocean of it flat out covering the floor entirely erased the happier expression and replaced it with one of horror. There’d be very little chance he’d be able to safely take Bendipe down there without risking him getting inked.  With great despair etched into the very wrinkles of his face, Henry hugged Bendipe, made Boris vow to not do anything to hurt or damage Bendipe, and turned. Then turned back around and told Boris what would happen to him should anything happen to Bendipe, and needless to say, Boris clutched Bendipe to him and silently swore up and down he’d guard “Bendipe” with his life. Bendipe wondered how long it would take Henry to find the projectionist, and pondered if he could get Boris to give him a proper vantage point.

Luckily enough, he didn’t even have to say anything, it was the sloshing behind them that gained Henry’s attention and got him to turn around and lean over the banister to see what it was. Alice merrily informed him, as if knowing he was about to ask.

“Shhh… That’s the projectionist, stay out of his light if-“

“Norman? Oh I know that poor posture anywhere! Thirty years and you still go-oooohhhhh damn. Is, that actually Norman? Wait are you actually-. Hey Norman! Norman! Nor—Bendipe, stay there, I’m about to _plunge_ headfirst into this.” Henry told them, and Bendipe got a very nervous tilt to his smile. Sure, Bonte Cristo— and boy did Bendipe loved the new name for the off model Bendy--  could take on the Projectionist, but Henry was not Bonte Cristo. He wasn’t weak of course, but they’d all seen what the Projectionist did to things that fell under his light. Henry wouldn’t survive that sort of assault. Bendipe dearly hoped whatever his creator had planned would work.

\---0---0---0---

Henry quickly darted down the stairs and sloshed his way over to Norman. Or rather, what apparently was left of him. While he was enraged that someone had potentially gone Frankenstein on his good pal, he just put it on his list. He made sure it was high on the list upon realizing that the Sammy upstairs was likely the actual Sammy. He had a feeling he was going to find who was doing this, an even greater feeling it was Joey’s fault, and he’d deal with it when he got there. For now, he geared up for likely the dumbest thing he’d done since the war. He eyed the plunger that had served him well thus far, and compared it to his target.

“Norman!” He called out, kicking up a wave of ink that washed over the amalgamation of machine and ink and his body tensed. Norman staggered at the surprise ink bath and turned to face what had encroached into his territory. Upon seeing the offender, he let out an ear piercing screech and charged. What nobody expected but Henry, was for a plunger to fly through the air like an avenging angel and suction right onto Norman’s light. Norman _absolutely_ didn’t see it coming, and now couldn’t see at all. No one would blame him for staggering around like a cat trying to get a leaf off its head. He flailed, ink splashed, the plungers handle thunked on a wall, Bendipe and Boris watched with varied expressions, Bonte Cristo hated the plunger a little less. As it turned out, having ink for hands meant any grip ability was all but gone. Especially when dealing with smooth wood.

“Oh man, looks like your luck took a plunge there. You could say it, went down the drain. But that’s what you get when you act like a clogged toilet and stink up the place with your crappy attitude.” Henry said, Norman froze. His shoulders slumped and his projector flopped forward like he’d lost the will to hold up the weight. In fact, his entire body just sort of lost its’ imposing height and if projector speakers could sigh, there’d have been a massive one coming out of his.

“I know… that sense of humor. Henry? Why… do you have…a plunger?” Norman spoke as best he could with the body he had and Henry cheerfully strode forward.

“Alice, or whoever was made into Alice. I’ll be honest, my memory is a bit bad when it comes to her.” Henry replied.

“You are the absolute worst date I’ve ever had in my entire life… That I can remember.” Alice’s deadpan voice came over the loud speaker and Norman let out a static filled laugh. Henry inched just a bit closer and tapped the plunger handle.

“So can I take this thing off and let you out of your lights out? Or are you going to try and _plunge_ at me again.” There were far too many snorts and groans considering there were only supposed to be three people responding. Henry, too excited to care, didn’t even notice.

“Yes, you can… I think I’ve got… my wits about me. What are you…even doing down here?” Norman held still while Henry pried the plunger off his light and remained calm even after getting his vision back.

“Well my selfish date sent me down here to find her a heart, or five. I’m not surprised, she’s been pretty heartless this entire time. Do you know anything about that?” Henry began trudging back up the stairs, eager to reunite with Bendipe now that someone taller than him could hold Bendipe safely while Henry collected hearts.

“The heartlessness or the hearts? The ink takes a lot…it doesn’t give anything back.” Norman replied, following Henry up and only pausing a moment to take in Boris and a Bendy cutout with a mustache.

“Oh, well, it gave you neat pants?” Henry tried, poking Norman’s hands to test how spreadable the ink was. It was solid and almost warm, but the best part was it didn’t spread. Henry took Bendipe back from Boris’ slack grip and watched Boris scamper back into the elevator.

“I died in these, or… went into the ink with them.” Norman desperately tried not to ask about the whole scene, memories of Henry telling him it was only going to bring up more questions.

“That’s not as nice as I was hoping. Did you want to join me on my quest to find Joey and punch him really hard?” Before waiting for a response, Henry gently handed Bendipe over and gestured for Norman to lift Bendipe above his head. Norman did so, rolling with it, because that’s how one survived being around Henry.

“Of course you do, he ruined four projectors and left no less than three running upstairs. Make sure no ink gets on Bendipe, he has sensitive skin and he’s dear to me.” Something being dear to Henry  was code for ‘if anything were to hurt this thing I’d hit whoever hurt it so hard their ancestors and descendants would all spontaneously combust.” Norman, understandably, softly held the Bendy cutout above his head so the ink below wouldn’t even come close to touching it. He swore, just in  the edge of his light, the Bendy cutout looked fondly at Henry. Norman chose not to say a single thing, Bendy was Henry’s creation, and most likely took after his creator in many regards after all.

The two found the hearts in record time. The elevator ride back up was a bit cramped, and plenty awkward. Boris was trying to become one with the elevator wall, Norman was observing everything with his cleared mind, Henry was humming a familiar tune, and Bendipe stared at the two not holding him, an amused smile on his face.

\---0---0---0---

Alice knew she should have just dropped the elevator when she had the chance. She dearly wished she’d left well enough alone and hadn’t tried to tell Henry to smash the Bendy cutouts. His response to that would remain in her memories for as long as she was alive. She’d assumed his frozen stare meant he’d realized she had gained the upper hand. She had the elevator and the stairs had been ruined further up. She’d assumed wrong, and she hated herself for it. She really hated how she’d assumed she’d get sympathy for her former human condition. Henry had set the cutout in his arms down and had proceeded to use the wrench he still had to dismantle the panel controlling the door. The one she’d forgotten about, and was rooting around inside it.

The look on his face, devoid of all kindness and hardened like he was back in the trenches, scared her. What scared her more was the entirely vindictive grin on the cutouts face. It’s like the thing knew she’d messed up and was gleefully waiting to see what Henry would do to her. So she thought as hard as she could about what she could say that might calm him down. That was when the Projectionist had noted the dents, found a tiny edge he could get his hands into, and he began prying the door open by brute strength alone. A few seconds later, the door malfunctioned, its wires jacked up far too badly, and it gave into their assault. Boris and her shared the dropped jaw and disbelieving stare. Henry had then picked up the damn cutout and stormed inside.

Sheltered behind her shuttered glass room the way she was, she had hoped she’d be safe. There was no time to try and tear up the path leading to her. She looked around for something, anything, to get him to calm down, but found nothing and wished with everything she had that she’d just killed him when she had the chance. Then, she recalled a stray bit of conversation and slammed her hand down on the intercom button.

“Henry, I change my mind, the cutouts can stay, they’re great! They really lighten up the place! I—oh sweet mercy, listen! Just… you said you wanted to punch that traitor? Joey Drew? I know how you can get to him! You need the elevator! You need me to press- okay you don’t need me, you’re perfectly capable of… that was made of metal…how…” She broke off into a scream when the shutters in front of her were smashed, bent, and torn off their weak frames and the light of the Projectionist flooded her safehouse. Though, with how easily they tore the thing up, it might as well have been made of cardboard.  She numbly wondered if the glass would even slow them down, but considering the fact that Henry had already gotten to work and she could clearly hear the glass screaming in its frame, she didn’t hope.

Sure enough, the glass shattered within four hits by the both of them and she scrambled back, using the podium as a shield. The two towered over her crouched form, the damn cutout staring at her from a few feet away. Henry didn’t say a single thing to her, he simply allowed the Projectionist to watch her while he got to work figuring out the controls and ripping out the brake control. She wondered if he knew she’d been planning to drop him in the elevator but didn’t open her mouth. If he was going to ignore her, she was going to take the chance to scrounge through the scant memories she had of him to figure out how she could escape this alive. After tinkering a bit more with the board, he finally turned to her.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to do whatever it is you do when you aren’t high on your ego and ink fumes. I, Norman if he wants, and Boris, if he wants, we’re going to go down further. Because I don’t make idle threats. If I ever hear from you again, I’m going to make you wish you’d never slugged your way out of the ink. I don’t like you Alice. Don’t think I’m sparing you out of pity or remorse. Its because you’re suffering enough to satisfy my spite.” He maintained a steady but dark tone through his warning, and she hastily nodded. With what he’d done to the podium, she had no ability to demand or do anything. Especially not with the Projectionist right there, ready to crush her skull. Henry turned, picked up the damn cutout, and he and his old friend left her ruined safe house.

By the time she managed to shakily wobble her way to a standing position, they’d gotten onto the elevator and were on  their way down. She looked down the hall, and felt a hysterical laugh build up. The Alice Angel cutout with the unibrow had the plunger stuck to its forehead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I am going out of order. Why yes, chapter three was my least favorite for many reasons. The good news is Alice Angel is still alive. The bad news is I still might do chapter 4 and change that.


	6. Cooking with regret (Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings, just an idea piece. Cuphead, ever wanting to make the best of chores, loves going through the recipe section. Sometimes he'll find wonderful recipes that wind up being made by his brother, the house chef, over and over. Other times... Well other times he finds things that had to have crawled from the lowest pits of hell. There was no other way to describe the things he found.

Cuphead stared at the slips of paper in his hand. The few bags in his other hand swung to the bounce in his step. He was quite pleased with the haul today. It was the only reason he readily agreed to going shopping too. The slips of paper in his hand certainly made losing precious play time and tree climbing time worth it. He glanced back up, the devious grin on his face only growing wider at the sight of the front door. Cuphead eyed the shadow the tree nearest the house was casting, estimated the time, dropped the bags, and tucked the papers into his pocket. Then he edged around the house until he was directly under the open window to the kitchen. Hearing what he was hoping to, he crouched, waited for the sound to get to the prime position, and leapt up and into the house.

Mugman screeched and tried to lunge back away, but it was a useless gesture. Cuphead smacked into him and the two toppled to the ground. Over Cuphead’s triumphant laughter and Mugman’s angry, indignant promises for retribution, Elder Kettle could be heard hobbling towards the kitchen. The moment he reached the scene of the crime, saw his two grandkids scuffling on the tile, saw the tiny bit of paper sticking out of Cuphead’s pocket, he took a large swig from his canteen. Then he made his way to the front door, reasonably sure he’d find the groceries he sent Cuphead to go pick up. 

There was a large part of him that regret ever letting Cuphead make that deal he had, but there was no way he’d go back on his word. Besides, whatever Cuphead had found for Mugman to make would either be great, or a testament to the world sliding into the pits of a tasteless Hell. Either way, his taste buds were fading and alcohol did wonders to overpower anything gross. The cheerful talk followed by the shriek of disgust told him all he needed to know.

Elder Kettle opened the front door, got the groceries inside, and resolved to holding off taking any more drinks until closer to dinner time.

\---0---0---0---

“I’ll have you know, this was at the very front! Now why wouldn’t they put this at the front if it was gross?” Cuphead reasoned, though the sly grin on his face told Mugman that his brother didn’t actually care.

“Because they don’t organize based on how disturbing the ingredients are.” He replied, staring at the recipe with a pinched expression. Cuphead heaved himself up off Mugman’s stomach and tugged his brother up as well. Mugman scowled at him and started wandering around the kitchen, digging through cabinets for the necessary ingredients.

“Were there no decent ones?” He asked his brother.

“Well yeah, but Aunt Hilda said you always save the best for last!” Cuphead replied, waving the other sheets around. Mugman, from deep within the bottom cabinet next to the fridge, thunked his head down on the wood surface and groaned. This was why Uncle Cagney was his favorite.

\---0---0---0---

“Okay so those are the things you have to go back out and pick up. Don’t give me that look, what sane house normally stores a pound of liver sausage?!” Mugman snapped, throwing his hands in the air but maintaining his grip on the list. Cuphead snatched it out of his brother in blue’s hand and cheerfully waved to him and Elder Kettle before heading back out.

“Sometimes I wonder if his soul being in close proximity to Hell had any lasting effects.” Elder Kettle mused, rocking back and forth. Mugman gave the door a thoughtful look but the sound of running water brought him back and he returned to the kitchen. It would have to be prepared for the culinary hell about to intrude on it.

\---0---0---0---

The gramophone played a smooth tune, filling the small home to the quietest corners. The sunlight poured over the wooden floors, casting a warm golden glow. Elder Kettle’s rocking chair creaked with each slow back and forth movement. Cuphead relaxed by the fireplace, his chores done for the day. Though not lit, it gave off a scent that reminded Cuphead of days spent playing with his brother, back when they were small, innocent. Really he was remembering last Tuesday, but his point stood, it was great and he was pleased he remembered it. The kitchen was full of life as well. Though, this was the sort of life the creator would gladly never bring into the world. Through the warm and welcoming atmosphere, there was weak humming over the sound of mixing things in a metal bowl and the bubbling from a pot on the stove. Mugman had a look on his face that clearly spoke of regret far beyond his years. The sludge in the bowl almost seemed to know it was hated, because his apron was stained with battle scars from the fight he was having with it.

He hated his brother, he really did. He wished he could go back in time and let his brother fight the debtors by himself. He had half a mind to ship him off to the casino with an apology for ‘taking one of Devil’s imps’, but the last time he’d tried that Cuphead had broken out of the box. That had been an awkward dinner, one he’d rather not go through again. As such, he continued, wondering what disturbed mind decided to put a pineapple top on liver sausage formed into a tube shape. Actually, he decided the second he found the author of the recipe, he was using the favor King Dice owed him. What he’d do to the guy would need professional clean-up crews, and King Dice knew people.

The refrigerator let out a pitiful squeak upon being opened, as if horrified it had to store such a concoction of sausage, gelatin and mayonnaise. He honestly couldn’t figure out who thought it a good idea to combine them, but even more so, who saw that recipe and decided to put it on the shelves. If there was one ounce of silver lining, Mugman thought, it was that Cuphead had to finish this thing, even if it was too atrocious for words.

\---0---0---0---

After power-washing everything, having a three-minute self-debate on whether using a super art was necessary to get the _remains_ out of the utensils used, Mugman finally gave himself a few minutes to just relax. Granted, it was all he had, power-washing had taken an hour and a half. He needed to make the meat pineapple’s frosting. The sound he let out at the realization of the thought he’d just had didn’t sound like something anyone should be able to make. It reminded him of the time they’d wandered into the casino to find Devil on the floor under the roulette table. He’d made the same wounded sound, but apparently, they weren’t supposed to help him according to a very irate King Dice.

Either way, if there was one thing he was glad for it was that he and Elder Kettle didn’t have to finish these things. Elder Kettle had stopped reading the recipes and just going for broke after the tuna and gelatin incident. With those memories mocking him in the back of his mind, he sat back up and got the olives ready. Idly, he wondered if Elder Kettle was correct in assuming Cuphead’s soul had been warped a bit from being too close to the Devil. He was rather glad his soul hadn’t been affected despite being linked to the same paper.

\---0---0---0---

The smile Mugman gave the two upon presenting the hellish meat slurry shaped like a pineapple was one Cuphead noted had a distinct ‘King Dice’ tinge. It was the same smile King Dice got when he was watching a person dig their own graves. Cuphead decided then and there he would try to limit how often Mugman was left with King Dice.

“Well, there we go! Why don’t you carve the first slice, Cuphead?” Mugman said, his voice honey-sweet. Cuphead, not one to be deterred, did indeed carve the slices, and without any fan-fare—the less he thought about what he was putting in his mouth the better—dug in.

Elder Kettle was impressed. He’d never seen Cuphead go from sure and eager to try something to two seconds from proving that porcelain could indeed projectile vomit hard enough to fly backwards. He dug his fork into his own slice, looked at Mugman’s far too demented expression, and took a bite. The pain of knowing his kids were being twisted by the various insane uncles and aunts they’d collected and the casino pair outshining the taste of the _thing._ A minute later he was deciding that, no, no it didn’t, it didn’t hold a candle. Mugman had taken the smallest bite of all of them –with knowledge comes power, obviously—and he had promptly reached for the coffee and hadn’t swallowed his first desperate mouthful yet.

Evidently there was a war going on in Mugman’s mouth and the coffee, normally strong enough to stun a yak, was actually having to throw itself into the fight. That alone would have gotten Elder Kettle to rethink putting the food in his mouth. He suspected that Mugman knew that and had been the last to take a bite for that reason. Over the loud gagging from Cuphead and the sadistically glee filled silence from Mugman, Elder had a realization that his kids were no longer the sweet boys from before. He resolved to tormenting Devil as soon as his life card was revoked by death. But he had a while for that sweet release. The idea of the two being raised by the rest of the Isle was enough for Elder Kettle to vow that if Death came for him any time soon Death would be leaving with half a skull and rearranged bones.

\---0---0---0---

“Oh it’s sticking to my mouth!” Cuphead wailed. He lunged for his fork to scrape the thing out of his mouth but his flailing knocked it down instead. Mugman, having finally swallowed his mouthful—and another full cup of coffee—watched his brother flounder with a pleased smile on his face. He was going to be scouring that smell out of his refrigerator for hours by the looks of things. Revenge was sweet, this pineapple thing was far less so. He had no words for the taste of the thing. What he did know was he hated how, as per the agreement, he’d have to store the hell pineapple in the fridge until Cuphead could finish it. Only then would he be able to even get started on cleaning out his poor fridge.

And by Inkwell would he finish this thing. It was gross, it was disgusting, and it was something he’d likely be making again if his side deal with King Dice was still going. A part of him felt bad for Devil, being fed these rejected recipes by King Dice simply because King Dice found it amusing to watch Devil gag. The rest of him thought it hilarious, as long as Devil never found out Mugman was the one making these things. If he did Mugman would be forced to make something grand and amazing just to prove he wasn’t a terrible cook with no taste.

Elder Kettle was chugging down the rest of his canteen, a glazed look in his eye. Cuphead had just barely managed to choke down the large bite he’d take. His eyes watered and he gave his brother a pleading look. The shark-toothed grin he got in return was all the answer he needed.

“You know Cuphead, if you didn’t decide to bring these recipes back you wouldn’t be having this problem.” Mugman, who had recovered from the horrid taste by now, unhelpfully reminded Cuphead.

“Yeah,” Cuphead started, pausing to steal a few mouthfuls of coffee from the pot. “But I have the ladies at the store thinking I’m the sweetest, most helpful boy they’ve seen on the isle. They think I go shopping for my mother.” He finished, taking a mouthful and keeping it in his mouth, hoping the coffee would sear through the grease. Mugman got a pinched look on his face, like he’d taken another bite of the thing mocking all of them from the center of the table.

“You have them thinking… Cuphead the thought of being your mother is horrifying.”

“Well it was either that or my girlfriend. One of them couldn’t decide how old I was and assumed I was a newlywed husband providing things for my darling wife to make.” It took quite a bit of fortitude to keep his expression and voice light, but the reaction he got from his brother was well worth it. Mugman only needed to imagine being married to his brother for a split second before he was sinking off his seat to the floor, his blue coloring tinged green.

“Cuphead, that’s even worse!”

“I know, why do you think I got them believing the mom story?”

“You couldn’t just tell them you were shopping because Elder Kettle was too old to make that trip?”

“Oh… You know that actually was probably the better option, but being fair, it never came up and they were very determined to believe there was a gal back home.”

“Excuse you,” Elder spoke up, refilling his canteen. “I very well _can_ make that trip, but that’s why I have you two in the first place. I’d also like to point out that I highly doubt you two will ever get married. At this rate I’ll never be able to watch you two go through the hell I did raising you both. No amount of bitterness in that coffee matches the bitterness I feel for that knowledge by the way. Now get eating Cuphead, you’ve got that thing to finish. I suggest you do it quickly, the longer it sits the more sentience it will get.” With that, Elder stood up, and shuffled back out of the room. He’d return to make himself some tea later on, once the boys had recovered. Based on the far off, horrified gaze from Mugman and the high-pitched whine from Cuphead, he was going to have to wait a while.

Ah well, plenty of time to practice bone removing motions for when death came for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find the idea of Mugman being interested in cooking to the point that he'll go all out with it fun. I also find it funnier to imagine Cuphead being the gopher of the family, constantly being sent to pick stuff up. Not because he's faster at it, that would be Mugman, but because he always volunteers first. Yes, that recipe is indeed a thing, all you have to do to find it is google "meat pineapple cracked" to find the cracked article with it. Why would Cuphead want a bunch of grocery workers doting on him? They give him little treats that he eats before he gets home.


	7. Bendipe chapter 2 round 2 part 2 (BatIM au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings. That's right folks, here it is, round 2!

The first thing that Henry did once consciousness returned to him was to hiss another vow of agony for Joey. The second thing was check on Bendipe. Bendipe, still over his body, stared back at him, face blurry due to how close he was. Henry let out a sigh of relief and let his body scream in pain for a few minutes. It wasn’t like he was in a hurry. Finally, after gaining his bearings, letting the aching in his bones fade to a far more tolerable state, he sat up. He half used Bendipe as a crutch to help himself stand, but Bendipe didn’t mind, not that he could say anything if he did.

Henry looked around the room trying to figure out just where he was and if he needed to add ‘poor architecture’ to his growing ‘list o’ studio sins’. The fact that the very first thing his gaze landed on were coffins told him the list would indeed be growing. Then there was the pentacle under his feet and the candles burning away.

“Bendipe…This is very important. I need you to check my back and tell me if someone removed one of my organs.” Henry said and gingerly set Bendipe down so he could lift his shirt and check his front. There was no response from Bendipe, but twisting didn’t hurt and he didn’t see a pool of blood under him, so his hopes were high.

“Okay, no black-market shenanigans, just black magic shenanigans. It’s something I suppose. Oh hey an axe! Right on the coffins. Bendipe did I wake up before the black-market shenanigans could start?” He picked his trusty little creation back up and proceeded to wander around, ignoring the axe for now. The hallway led only to broken wood in a way he simply couldn’t wrap his head around. The bottom floorboards went up but the ceiling boards went down. He had no idea how that was possible unless someone intentionally decided they wanted to block that exit off in the most tedious way possible. He worried for the hobbies of whoever had done this, or likely lack thereof. Turning to the room he’d left, he spotted a door and silent judgement reigned supreme on his face once more.

“Two. Two boards Bendipe. They put two boards across the upper part of that door. I… I could just duck Bendipe, and I’d be through. The audacity of that person is amazing.” He reached one arm out and tugged on one of the boards. It came off without him even putting a touch of force on it.

“And held in place by fairy snot! Look at this Bendipe! This is a clear sign of what our antagonist thinks of us!” Voice full of mock wounded pride and hand dramatically pressed to chest, Henry whirled around and snatched up the axe. It didn’t feel right in his hand, but he stowed it via one of his belt loops anyway. He tore off the other board and pushed the door open. Taking four steps in, he watched a board from the ceiling fall down in a repeat of the upper floors. He heaved out a disappointed sigh and pressed on. Down the stairs he caught sight of more scrawled graffiti on the walls; right next to a Bendy drawing.

“’He will set us free’ hm?” Henry tilted his head a bit and glanced at the drawing. “Well if its referring to you, I’d like to formally request you not set me free until I can punch Joey.” He told it and carried on, adjusting Bendipe under his arm so the cutout was angled in a way that let it see without clipping any of the walls. Henry took in the bowl of what had to be bacon soup that had a whole new life-form growing in it, grimaced, and very carefully avoided going any closer to that wall. Though he did pause to contemplate taking the banjo. While he’d love to nab it and play a little tune, he didn’t like how it’d been sitting near the gross soup. He spotted another one of those recorders and meandered over. While it played, he got the distinct feeling he was being watched and squinted accusatorily at the tiny Bendy cutout.

“I said, can I get an amen.” A voice echoed the last line of the recorded message. Henry, having recognized the voice from the get go, couldn’t resist.

“I don’t know Sammy, can you? You should have gotten all of your amen’s before class started.” He teased and twisted to look for his good buddy. When he didn’t see anyone, he tilted Bendipe up towards his face. “Just like Sammy to vanish, I tell you, he was the biggest drama queen besides Wally.” He gave Bendipe a playful tap on his horn with his free hand and scoffed at the sight of more coffins.

“It’s a good thing those things are empty or we’d be seeing a whole lot of corpse juice leaking out of that. I once saw a casket that had ‘the best sealant to keep the dirt from your loved one’ burst due to pressure buildup. Aunt Linda got nailed with a blast of grey goo and threw up all over the picnic. Why was there a casket like that where we were eating? Look, we were celebrating the death of our asshole grandfather and we do that by raising the casket back up every two years so he can get a real good look at how his family isn’t a screaming wreck.” Henry had a wistful note to his voice. The happy tilt to his smile mirrored by Bendipe.

“Hey wait, did he…Sammy were you talking about Bendy in that thing? Are you hitting on my creation!? Boy I have an axe and a far too large buildup of wrath to dish out! I learned things in that war Sammy! You keep away from my brain child!” Henry shouted at the hallway he was about to go down. Oddly enough he swore he heard the sound someone made when they choked on a laugh and wound up coughing instead. He shrugged it off, Sammy would learn a thing that day if he really was being creepy towards Bendy. He started down the hall, taking in the sight of a Bendy cutout on the wall, leaning against another more elaborate symbol.

“Try all you want Boodie, you’ll never be as amazing as Bendipe.” He told it, patting it gently on the head between the horns and continuing on. The distressed whine he gave out at the sight of the next hall made the cutout, that had been smiling wider, frown. Henry, focused on the ink filled hallway, didn’t see it. He carefully set Bendipe down and dipped one leg into the hall, letting out an immense sigh of relief upon realizing it wasn’t that deep, just about ankle height. He picked Bendipe up once more and held the mustachioed cutout higher up so no ink so much as splashed on it.

As he was making his way down, slowly to reduce splashing, he saw a figure wearing scruffy overalls and a Bendy mask shuffle by where he’d been heading. The man had a Bendy cutout too, and only after noticing the cutout did he notice that the figure was inky black from head to toe besides the mask and the pants. He let out a surprised sound and immediately pegged it as the same sort of thing he’d seen before. He dearly hoped that it wasn’t that guy though. Anyone that got Bendy’s face so wrong simply shouldn’t be allowed to hold a Bendy cutout. He almost called out, but they were gone before he decided what to say so he shrugged and moved forward. If the thing was going to take a swing at him though, they’d find out real quick _exactly_ what happened to someone that endangered Bendipe.

Reaching the doorway and cautiously peeking around the corner, he spotted no figure, but he did see another cutout, perhaps the same one that had been carried. He clutched Bendipe to his chest in a hug.

“It’s okay Bendipe, I’m not going to abandon you. I’m so sorry Bendop, that the thing carrying you just left you to stare at a boring hallway. I hope interesting things happen so you don’t lose your adorable mind.” He woefully pat it on the chest, still hugging Bendipe, and turned to continue on. He didn’t care that the thing had vanished, the studio was poorly built so he wouldn’t be surprised if the fellow had used a secret entrance. With how shoddy everything else here was, it wouldn’t be hard to hide the door to one. He finally got a really good look at the cans of bacon soup, and his face spasmed violently. The fact that Joey had stamped his devil darling on a can of that swill, with the design that clearly could only come from one of the interns after a three-day bender, was another reason for knocking Joey around.

When he got a gander at the switch board that would power the gate blocking his way, the third reason ‘poor mechanical design’ was rewritten in bold print. He recalled seeing one hidden behind the atrocious cans and pressed it, noting the entirely useless location of it. Then he remembered one all the way back near the tiny Bendy cutout, headed back and pressed it. He then spent five minutes searching high and low for the last one.

\---0---0---0---

“ _Who in the god damn shitting fucking pig hoof guzzling egg snorting hell thought to put a button here_?!” His indignant screech echoed through the halls. There was no response, at least not one that he heard.

\---0---0---0---

“Look at that Bendipe. Five whole boards. That’s what respect looks like.” Said five boards lasted all of half a second when Henry, remembering the last ones, flat out sprinted and twisted so his back hit them at the last second. Bendipe, if he could, would be clapping at the theatrics. Henry, fully pleased with himself, took in the sight of the room, axe swinging uselessly at his side. He arched a brow at the sight of the sign proudly declaring this area the music department. Last he knew, the music department had been upstairs where that ugly machine now sat. He wondered if Sammy had finally managed to talk Joey into giving the music department a far better location or if he’d been relocated because of the abomination to mechanics.

He decided that before he would touch the recorder next to the sign he’d wander a tad. He found a switch next to a flooded staircase that turned the power on in the area and rightfully figured the place was far less gloomy with the lights on. He moved closer to the sign once more, not expecting an ink creature to burst from a puddle. He barely managed to scrabble back, but out the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a tiny dot of ink on Bendipe’s cheek; left over from the creature’s wild swing. He darted back to the switch room, red taking over his vision, and turned to face the antagonists.

\---0---0---0---

While Henry was turned away, Bendipe invoked the magic that let him repair his appearance, being sure to leave the mustache intact. He could see splashes and flashes of whatever Henry was doing, but no more than that. Then a searchers head went sailing through the air and thwapped into the wall above the staircase. Bendipe, at that moment, fell deeply in love with his darling creator. The kind of love that came from admiration of a well-respected person. He only remembered he could see through the Bendy cutout perched on the wall after the last one had been dealt with. The fact that his creator hadn’t made a sound the entire time made him wonder just what had happened. The response of mute horror mixed with even more admiration from the other cutout told him whatever had gone down had been grand.

Golly, his creator sure was spiffy.

\---0---0---0---

Henry returned to pick Bendipe up, sagging with relief at the sight of the clean cheek. He wiped his hands along the walls, giggling at the knowledge the next person to see the smears would be awful confused. Once his hands were about as clean as they were going to get, he picked Bendipe back up and returned to the room. Ink covered the walls and ceiling in arcs and bits of searcher plopped down from the walls when gravity got ahold of them once more. He strolled over to the next recorder, unsurprised it was a surly Sammy talking about leaks from the thing that should go down in history as the most useless art related machine. He did get a laugh at the knowledge that Sammy also had the switch to drain the leaks but wondered how or where the drains were.

He honestly didn’t want to know actually, based on how illogical everything else in this place was. He strolled through the hall that lead up to a projector room, taking a moment to listen to the fun tune playing. He did love Sammy’s work, guy was pretty solid when it came to music. He ambled upstairs, listened to another tape while staring at the lone Bendy cutout below, noting the frankly strange mannerisms from Sammy. He guessed it was ink fume exposure. While thinking on whether that sounded like usual Sammy or gassed up Sammy, he walked back down, and went into the room that the projector pointed into. He praised the Bendy on the wall, the one splashing around with an umbrella above his head and looked around for the other cutout, disappointed when he didn’t see it. He heard a scuffling sound and glanced up at the projector booth, doleful expression during happy at seeing the cutout.

“Oh, you wily little scamp you.” He teased. The cutout stared, if its smile was less cardboard and livelier, he simply figured it was a sign of good artistry. He listened to the voice actress for Alice Angel and tried to think about whether he remembered seeing the woman around. He’d probably remember her better if he saw her, but for now, he simply couldn’t place a face to the voice. He looked at all the instruments, playing a little ditty on a few of them. Then he went back to explore more.

He found the recording rooms, poked at the pipe organ a bit, trying to imagine how annoying the loud instrument would have been to anyone above this room. He estimated it would have driven him to chewing through the floorboards and bashing the pianists kneecaps with a leg from the piano bench by the end of the week depending on how often it was played. So, not blatantly annoying, but certainly not ignorable. Continuing down he spotted a few strange things. The first was the office with a viewing ledge carved into the wall. The second was the ink pooling in the in the doorway.

“Well cutout whose name is Bond, Bendbond, looks like Sammy wasn’t lying about the ink. Now, if he was around, he’d be quite angry about someone intruding in his office. That being said, I feel that, as a parent, I have a ‘get out of being yelled at’ card this one time.” With that, he scuttled through the opening in the wall and carefully pulled Bendipe through as well. He thought it right cute that the cutout leaning on the wall was double sided.

He was glad flipping this switch was so easy compared to the first few engineering faux pas. He didn’t want to imagine this being more convoluted. Knowing his luck, had there been thick glass, he’d have had to find a way to clear the doorway by finding keys that would be in some counterintuitive spot to get to a closet that would give him more info on the pump to clear the door. The very idea made him shudder with how unpleasant it sounded. He took a gander at the rest of the room. Henry snorted at the sight of the words scrawled on the wall, letting his gaze follow the text to the table and the paper on the table while he spoke.

“Yeah I believe in plenty of- _mark II? Mark fucking II?! That piece of scrap is the **second fucking version?! Are you kidding me?!**_ ” The two cutouts watched Henry rant for what they guessed was a good three minutes. The sheer amount of cussing and insults he fit into the rant was so impressive, the gaggle of cutouts from the orchestra room gathered and peeked down the hall, watching with glee.

\---0---0---0---

Calmed once more, Henry went down the hall at a sedate pace, Bendipe tucked under his left arm. He thought he heard movement from his left, so he’d made sure to clear his hand for optimal testing. He wanted to try something and see if it worked. He didn’t quite expect the figure that took a swing at him and missed, hitting Bendipe instead and knocking a horn off. The two human figures paused. One of them, banjo in hand, winced at the missed ambush. The other one felt his world slow until all he saw was death, looming over the inky creature, telling him to aim for the nipples.

And so, he did. The banjo was used at some point, and while Henry was _busy_ , Bendipe was using that moment to repair himself. He watched the scene with the same mute horror and admiration the other had before. He honestly didn’t know one could peel someone inflicted with ink the way Henry did. He also had no idea that banjos could fit where Henry was making it go. The screeching cries of ‘it’s for my lord! You’re the sacrifice he wants!’ only made Henry get more creative.

\---0---0---0---

Henry had no idea what happened. One moment he was employing tactics that would get him put on a list and or come under fire from the Geneva convention for being cruel and unusual, the next, he was in a room. He swore that he’d only blinked once to wipe the splash of ink from ripping nipples off from his eyes. How he got to this place he had no clue. What he did know was that Bendipe was beside him, perfectly repaired and that was all that mattered. The ink being was also there, albeit cowering in a corner as far from him as the thing could get. Henry did not care about him, even when he heard quiet and confused mutters from the thing.

“You look familiar to me.” The thing said, it sounded remarkably like Sammy. But Henry knew there was no way his good pal would fall this far. What mattered more was the odd sloshing sound from above.

“He’s here,” the figure said with hushed reverence. “He’s here, he’s crawling above, my lord!” Henry frowned and tried to figure out just where the shuffling sound was coming from.

“You better not be talking about Bendy. You see this face? This is the face of a creation that wouldn’t stoop to crawling through vents. I’ll have you know that as his creator, he’d sooner slink through them. Crawling is for boring humans like me.” Henry scolded the man, pointing at Bendipe who stared at him, smile strangely dark considering the light falling on it was even.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going. Come near me or my son again and you’ll find out what your ham strings taste like, capiche?” The clear threat in his voice had the creature nodding frantically and covering their chest. Henry found it odd considering he’d already relocated the things nipples. Whatever made it stay away from Bendipe, he supposed.

“Henry?” The thing slurred, staring up at him while he strode by. He paused, bewildered and interested.

“Is… I know… that voice. Henry? I-“  There was a sudden thunderous crash and the thing he’d decked right in the face, Bentony, he recalled,  tore into the room. Henry, fearing that the thing would get ink on Bendipe, gave the creature a pointed motion to be quiet then did what he’d been wanting to do. He quickly planted Bendipe down in front of the two of them and huddled behind Bendipe.

Bentony, apparently expecting a person or whatever to be there and only seeing one lone cutout with a mustache staring back, was rightfully confused. Henry thought he heard Bentony bubble like it was talking to Bendipe, and oh so carefully pulled a piece of beef jerky out of his shirt pocket, snacking while being sneaky. The ink being next to him stared at him through the mask in blank confusion. Honestly, the only reason he was doing this was because what he’d done to the thing was so bad it would easily outshine anything that Bentony did to him. Not only that, but it would be like kicking a wounded soldier, something Henry _did not tolerate._ So he motioned for the thing to stay silent on pain of an encore and was pleased when it nodded.

They listened to the odd sounds from Bentony go on for a minute until there were heavy footsteps stomping angrily away.

\---0---0---0---

“I’ve got you now you- oh okay… What?!” Bentony screeched at the empty room. He stormed up to the cutout, sure that he’d seen Henry right here.

“Where is he!?” Bentony demanded. Bendipe stared back at him, wide grin growing wider, but keeping silent though Bentony knew he could speak.

“Oh don’t play silent movie with me. _Talk or I’m smashing you.”_

“Sure thing, I’m not sure where he went boss, you know we can only see the direction we’re facing and all. He might have wandered off that way.”

“What way? You didn’t move or point.”

“Well boss I’d love to move and point but I’m not…uh… you.”

“What was that pause? Were you going to insult me?”

“Boss I’d love even more to point out that he’s getting away the longer you stay here.”

“Dammit you’re right. If he comes back for you, I’ll see it, or at least… _I better._ ”

“No problem boss, my peepers will be on full peep. If he makes a peep, these peeps will get a peep at it.”

“I’m going to leave before I find out whether ink can have a stroke.”

“Good luck catching him _Bentony.”_

\---0---0---0---

After the thing had left Henry picked Bendipe back up, patting him lovingly on the head and waving at the creature that sounded like Sammy. It weakly reached out to him and he quickly side stepped the hand.

“Henry wait!” It said, but Henry didn’t really want to listen, he actually really wanted to continue on, and he’d done his good deed of helping the thing out. So Henry gave it a casual wave and started down the hall. Deciding he wanted to get around faster, he pulled out his axe and took a swing. His jaw dropped when the axe shattered after the third board.

“What in the sweet and salty chicken roasting hell is this thing made out of?! Hippie tears? Stardust?” He choked out through the waves of disbelief. Shaking off his incredulity after hearing a surprised laugh behind him, where the ink guy was, he began kicking and body slamming the boards. Bendipe safely held out of reach of the violence. They came up to a point where they could either go forward towards a well-lit door or down a corridor. Bentony bursting out of the ink, screeching like a drunk, angry whale made the decision for them. Henry hauled ass down the corridor, sprinting to keep Bendipe out of its reach. He knew he’d escaped when he heard a door slam behind him but kept going just in case.

He finally stopped running, skidding to a halt at the sight of a soup can rolling across the floor. When he looked up to see the culprit, he was suddenly very glad that if the cops did come here, he wouldn’t have to worry about being framed for a toon murder. Boris looked between him and Bendipe, confusion in his eyes. Henry returned the stare with a suspicious squint. He’d already had two things act as a threat to Bendipe. The next one was going to learn a life lesson in picking fights with things far out of their league.

“I see your taste is as poor as your creator, Boris. Good to know. It makes me feel better considering the thing wearing my creation’s face is so poorly drawn I’d believe it if someone told me he was what happens when that shoddy piece of work upstairs eats true Mexican food laced with laxatives.”

The indignant screech from behind the door and surprised snort he got form Boris told him all he needed to know about Boris’ chances of hurting Bendipe. They were nil. Boris, much like Joey, knew when to not tempt fate, also known as Henry’s wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually didn't mind chapter 2 and I hope that shows. It really was chapter 3 that dragged on the most. In case anyone is wondering, I'm holding off on making art for this stuff until I've got my chaptered stuff fully written and completed. Writing takes less time for me than drawing. Once I get art going, most of it will likely go on my tumblr, ephemeralmuse, in case anyone was curious. I might even start an actual story for this game done my way later on if I figure it'll be fun enough. But that will be down the line. For now, you all get Bendipe.


	8. Bendipe, Quads and Quartets (Batim Au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 of Bendipeverse. No pairings. This thing is over 13 pages long, so let's just get right to it.

“So to clarify, that really was Sammy, our looney Sammy… That I abandoned for dead upstairs. With not a thing to defend himself. Not even a banjo.”

“Henry this is the fourth time you’ve mentioned banjo’s while recounting your story. Just what did you do with the thing?”

“Norman, war taught me many things. It taught me how to fix things, like your sound system. It taught me how to make light of horrid things, like the current situation. But most of all, it taught me that creativity is key to surviving when your piece of shit weapon breaks or jams and all you have is a trench knife and a lot of anger. I did things Norman. I did things that would make, and did make, grown men cry, beg, flee, and surrender at the very sight of me. What do _you_ think I did with a banjo?”

“Sweet shit I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t hug me until I put Bendipe down. How are we going to go back and get Sammy? I can’t just leave him behind.”

“Well, we could take the elevator and try and look around the last place you saw him?”

“Bendipe, Boris, this is non-negotiable. We’re going back up so we can find- _what the saint sniffing ass crack is happening to the wall?!_ ” Henry watched the wall nearest the elevator, which had been patiently waiting for them to step off at the lowest level they’d reached thus far, warp a deep black. Norman quickly put himself in front of Henry, more out of habit than anything. He was the only one to take on Bendy and live, so if Bendy was indeed on the way, or… Boonine… Norman would be more than glad to act as a first like of defense. Instead, out flopped the person they’d just been talking about.

“There you are! Henry you son of a bitch!” Sammy Lawrence, still wearing his Bendy mask but looking far more put together than anyone had ever seen him, stumbled to his feet. He froze at the sight of Norman, clearly debating if Norman was a threat or not. Norman’s response was to wave. As an added bonus, and insult towards Sammy, Norman used the new feature Henry had put on him. He blasted ‘Stuck in the Middle with You’ from his speaker. Having a radio added to his body was the best thing that had ever happened to him since becoming a seven-foot-tall ink creature. He played the line “clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right” extra loud. Sammy tossed his arms into the air and gargled nonsensical insults at him.

“I finally find you, and you’ve fixed up Norman, still have that cutout, and have Boris? Just what have you done Henry?” Sammy shouted over Norman’s music, Norman let out a healthy laugh in reply.

“Well you see, since uh… having that scuffle with you-“

“You mean ripping my nipples off and relocating them to my forehead with banjo string. Henry I’ll never be able to go near a banjo again, that was my favorite instrument, you sadist!”

“Sammy it’s great to see you not dead! Boris hold Bendipe.” Henry passed his precious cargo over and wasted no time in hugging Sammy. Sure, he could be annoyed that he was the shortest person of the group, but that would be poor sportsmanship. He chose to focus on the fact that Sammy only flinched a little at his approach before losing all his anger in a great slumping motion and readily accepting the hug. Giving it a few good moments before letting go, Henry savored having old buddies back with him. He really had missed the whole gang. He hoped, but didn’t hope, that he’d find more. On one hand, more old friends, on the other, more reasons to rip Joey’s testicles off and turn them into a decorative tiara.

Taking Bendipe back, Henry began leading them all deeper into the studio. Sammy followed behind Norman like a lost but very grumpy old man, grumbling the whole time.

\---0---0---0—

Walking so much took a lot out of someone not made of ink. As such, Henry had requested they pause before going much further so he could rest. The two former humans didn’t even hesitate to agree to a brief reprieve. Boris was suspiciously silent, Henry wouldn’t be surprised if Boris had done nothing but judge him this whole time. They led him down the hall where Grant Cohen used to stay and broke the door across from his office open. Norman and Sammy watched Henry prop Bendipe up then duck behind him, leaving only his fingers visible. They watched him reach one arm back out to pat Bendipe on the arm, then within a minute or two, quiet, even snores filled the air.

Boris wandered off while the other two ink creatures quietly chat outside the room, trying to minimize the amount of sound that got into the room while keeping guard all the same. Few things were dumb enough to take on the Projectionist, and Sammy had a way of guiding the searchers away with a simple wave of his hand. An hour or so later, not that they cared much, Henry was waking back up, making a rather impressive cacophony of cracking and creaking sounds just by stretching out and standing back up. Bendipe stared at them, grin a bit less wide at the clear indication of Henry’s age.

Henry picked Bendipe up, checking him over first for any ink stains or scuff marks. There were none, not that Bendipe had to worry about those things. It would just repair itself when he wasn’t looking and be perfect once more. Henry shuffled over to the other door after greeting the three of them, expression dazed from sleep but movements spry. The three had no idea how he did it, nor did they want to ask. He opened the door across the hall and took a long moment to just take everything in.

“So…” Henry shuffled further in so the others could join him, the three of them looked at the ‘Taxes’ and ‘Time is money’ written all over. “This where we shoved the finance department?” He asked. Sammy snorted and Norman leaned back a bit to look up at the ceiling, a bit disappointed it wasn’t covered as well.

“I think so, don’t recall Grant being the accountant though.” Norman said, nudging at a few things on the desk. He accidentally hit the recorder during one poke and the four of them listened to the strange gurgling sounds.

“Did—did I just hear an ink slug lose its virginity?”

“God fucking dammit Henry.”

“This is why we can’t take you anywhere where being serious is required.”

“Good thing we’re in a cartoon studio then!”

“Dammit.”

Bendipe stared ahead, grin so wide his eyes were squinted.

\---0---0---0---

“Son of a bitch done took the door handle. What twisted toon does that!?” Henry wildly gestured to the missing turn wheel on their only way out. They’d all realized Boris was missing about half a minute after getting over what Henry had said about the tape.

“Maybe he’s just in the vents?” Sammy offered. Norman pressed his weight against the door, trying to see if it was closed or not. When it didn’t budge, the four wandered back to the rooms they did have access too. There was but a single annoyed grunt from Henry when Norman’s light fell on the missing wheel they had all apparently missed. Trudging their way back, slapping the wheel back on, turning it, the quartet finally got further into the building’s depths. Or, the archives if the sign was correct. Henry was genuinely surprised when it was, none of them blamed him.

What did surprise him were the inky mannequins posed in various odd positions. He gave the statement above it a hearty squint of disbelief.

“He will set us free seems to be a popular phrase around here. But all I’m seeing is the worlds longest game of red light green light. You got this fella’s! That statue has got to blink at _some_ point!” Henry poked at one of the mannequin’s feet, grimacing when his finger went into the surface and came out covered in ink.

“He has the power to do so, Henry. Bendy, the one that wanders, the one you ate jerky while hiding from.” Sammy spoke up, catching Henry’s attention.

“Sammy, that would be Boonine. Please address that sorry excuse for a Bendy correctly. No child of mine would look like a person with a gimp suit fetish and spinal implants that’d make any dinosaur jealous.”

“Boonine… Well alright then, he can manipulate the ink, it helps that I’m fairly certain Joey is in him.” Evidently whatever Sammy said was enough to make Henry freeze mid step, gaze going blank. The cutout gave the two a dark grin. Norman and Sammy, who’d never seen the thing actually move, got the distinct impression they’d done something they shouldn’t have.

“Are you telling me that within that off-model mistake is the guy that couldn’t even greet me at the door when he requested I show up? He… Bastardized my Bendy?” Henry’s voice was low, threatening, and very, very grave. The two glanced at one another and hesitantly nodded.

“We can’t think of another reason why that one would be so powerful. Usually only human-ink amalgamations are as strong as he is.” Norman hesitantly responded, his light dim with nervous tension. Sammy crossed his arms across his chest, not so subtly defending his chest from potential repeat violence.

“Well then!” Henry spun around, entire body radiating a happy excitement. They carefully noted that the cutout didn’t change its expression at all, if anything, the grin grew. “We better get going. I’ve got appointment with Mr. Drew and I’d hate to miss it!”

“Please tell me you’re going to do worse to him than what you did to me.”

“Gladly.”

“Thank you.”

\---0---0---0---

“So what this tells me is if there’s a fire, the only way you’ll be able to get out is by running through the flames to solve the book lock, hope the burns don’t kill you, hope the smoke doesn’t blind you, and if either does get you, oh well.” Henry shoved the last book that stuck out oddly into its’ place.

The other three had been poking around the room, Sammy having never gone this far down, Norman never being in this general location. They all gave a moment to think about Henry’s point, realized that indeed, the archives were a death trap, and continued on. The fact that it was one of _many_ death traps made getting over the realization easy. Sammy went back to the tape recorder they’d all been ignoring simply because they weren’t sure who they would hear. Deciding it couldn’t hurt to start the thing, he pressed play. The voice of Susie Campbell drifted out, and the quartet listened to her clear descent into insanity with equal amounts of surprise.

That is to say, none. There was zero surprise.

“Okay both of you and that Alice person were different when I found you. Is the ink doing that or is it the cheesy magic circles doing that?” Henry, seeing the opportunity for what it was seized it. It wasn’t like they had better things to do.

“I remember trying to leave, Sammy started getting too strange for my tastes and it wasn’t exactly easy sharing a workspace with a band. I guess I didn’t make it, but I don’t remember much past handing in my resignation.” Norman’s projector head tilted down in thought.

“It’s called being passionate about what you do. But, now that I think about it, Joey had been handling the coffee machines before everything went to hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been drugging us. I can’t say much for the voice actors though, no idea what Susie is going on about being Alice.” Sammy mused, scuffing one pant cuff on the floor idly.

“Hey didn’t you have a crush on her voice?” Norman nudged the man, mechanical voice lilted in a teasing way.

“Well of course, I’m a musician, I praise music and she knew how to hold a tune. That’s more than can be said for some other voice actresses of the day. I swear, the first time I heard that Betty character sing I thought I was going to redecorate my living room with the cereal I’d just had. It was atrocious!” Sammy tossed his hands in the air, nearly knocking Norman’s head loose. Henry decided it was high time to get moving before any bland drama began and loudly cleared his throat, striding towards the door and prying it open.

He carefully didn’t mention the weird freak out that had hit him mid puzzle and made him see what had to be safes for important documents go bonkers. He really didn’t want to think the ink fumes in the air were getting to him. If they were, he hoped he’d turn into something that didn’t drip ink. Bendipe, who’d seen the stutter in his creator’s step, relaxed with the knowledge that beyond the door marked private was fresh air. Cave air, but fresh and not inky in the slightest. An ink-addled Henry would be the worst thing Bendipe, and all the other cutouts, could imagine. Somewhere in the ink, lost to the grip of a demented man, a little devil darling agreed with the cutouts.

\---0---0---0---

“So, quick question.”

“Yes, Henry?”

“Did Joey put a nightclub in here?”

“Why do you ask, Henry?”

“Well, I can’t help but notice the cages dangling precariously above an abyss. And the only thing that comes to mind, are those weird cages women in nightclub’s dance in.”

“How do you know what’s in those clubs, Henry?”

“I have ears and friends that love them. You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, Henry. He didn’t put a nightclub in here.”

“Not even a bar?”

“Not even a bar.”

“Oh.”

\---0---0---0---

 Making a gear from an ink creatures zit was about as gross and strange as Henry thought it was going to be. He may, or may not, have used Bendipe as an excuse to not touch it and let Norman handle the delivery to the strange little machine. Then came the issue of the rickety old cart on a cable that rained rust. It screeched along the line towards them, jerking every once and a while on a catch. Henry would sooner eat his own ink covered shoes than put Bendipe on that thing. He was eventually convinced by Sammy who promised to avenge him and Bendipe if the thing collapsed before they made it. Norman and Sammy then opened up a portal and melted into the wall.

“That’s just unfair.” Henry griped, clutching Bendipe close and trying to decide if he would be able to throw Bendipe to safety if the cart gave out. There was a brief moment of panic; the cart rocked dangerously, Norman and Sammy both lurched for the edge, as if they’d be able to catch at least one of the two if it gave out, but the cart made it. Henry stepped out, reclaimed Bendipe from Norman, and very pointedly didn’t say a thing about what had just happened.

He also pretended the stumble into the wall when everything went hands up in the hallway was merely old man joints protesting too much. Sammy didn’t look like he believed Henry, though that was hard to tell through the mask. Henry was quite glad they finally reached a level that wasn’t even sort of boarded up properly from nature, allowing natural air flows to clear the ink fumes out. He just had to keep clearing his lungs and hope for the best.

“I see you there, my little errand boy.” Everyone froze, Henry got a face full of Norman’s inky back, Sammy had to pry him out.

“Your Angel is always watching.” Alice’s voice filtered through speakers none of them cared to look for. Henry was quick to recover.

“He is! It’s why I carry him the way I do! Isn’t that right Bendipe?” Henry spoke, lighthearted even through the ink that was taking more than a swipe or two to come off.

“Okay, what is it that keeps you going? Is it the thrill of the hunt? The thirst for your freedom? The sick pleasure at knowing your methods give others headaches? Or perhaps… You’re just looking for a little, friendly, wolf. Better hurry, errand boy-“

“Alice. Before you dig a deeper grave, it’s the first one. I’m thrilled to be hunting for Joey so I can punch him so hard in the pelvis, the bone turns to dust. Boris isn’t mine, he’s also not all that friendly. The true Alice would know that. So I’m really starting to doubt you even know her character.”

“Excuse you.”

“No, no. Now here’s what’s going to happen. I warned you the last time we met, evidently that warning didn’t stick. I’m going to find you, I’m going to knock you upside the head until whoever is under that ink comes through, and then I’m going to smack her.” There was a lengthy pause after Henry’s declaration.

“That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“You aren’t very angelic.”

“Fine, you like hunting? Then let the hunt begin!” Henry, who’d begun stomping up the stairs, Sammy and Norman following along, just nodded in response. His mild expression not fooling Alice in the slightest.

\---0---0---0---

Norman knew that there were souls who’d managed to dig their way out of the ink just enough to stay in one shape, but he had no idea the majority of them stayed on the lowest floors. He watched them stare at Henry, quiet noises of varying pain or acknowledgement filtering from their mouths. Henry seemed to be torn between poking one and keeping Bendipe from the ink running down their bodies. It was nice to know Henry’s love for his toon hadn’t changed at all.

He continued to do what he’d always done and watch his companions realize the only way to the next area was through a vent. One that Bendipe wouldn’t fit through. By this point, the lost ones had turned to face the group, some even shuffling closer. Sammy sent them a mean glare through his mask, unwilling to deal with the crazy that came with interacting with one. He had to agree, touching one tended to open the floodgates to all lost souls. Nothing but endless screams, wails, cries, and pleas for it to end. It was miserable, so if hefting himself to his full height would keep them at bay, he’d do it. Besides, Norman thought, with the warpath Henry was on, these people wouldn’t be suffering for much longer.

He was the one that took Bendipe this time, Henry, apparently more worried for Bendipe than crawling through a vent properly, had climbed in feet first. Realizing his mistake too late, he’d shrugged and given the two a wide grin.

“I guess if anything is looking to surprise me, they’ll just get a good kick in the face instead.” He joked before pushing himself into the vents further, waving goodbye to the lost souls in the room. Norman swore he heard one lost soul whisper Henry’s name but couldn’t be sure. Opening a portal, he and Sammy used Bendipe to tell them where to open the portal back up. Both of them were highly unnerved by the fact that the cutout’s pie-cut eyes were in fact moving. It was as if the longer it spent near Henry, the more alive it became. Neither wanted to guess the implications of that hypothesis, but neither were willing to get rid of the thing. Henry would make them wish they’d never regained their senses.

Even more interestingly, the voices usually screaming in the void of ink were muted as long as both stayed near the cutout. Considering they’d never experienced that before, they wondered if it was due to Henry influencing the cutout, which influenced the ink. Or if it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, they were grateful for the far more peaceful journey.

Sammy remarked about this being where Boonine found and killed them, incurring the wrath of Henry because Bendipe would be unable to leave this place without them. When they heard laughter from a toon no one had seen in years, one that neither could see, but knew from the fact that he was their poster toon, Sammy had shrieked like a baby. Norman hadn’t even had time to think before he’d been hauled out of the portal into the room that the vent would lead to. Between the vow of silence on what just happened and the panicked breathing from Sammy, Norman spared a thought as to where Henry was.

“You gimp suit wearing ass clown! That had better not be you in there Joey!” As if answering his thought, they both heard Henry’s enraged scream through the vent, heard metal being hit hard enough to break it, and then heard a surprised, pained cry from the ink demon. Bendipe’s eyes almost glittered with unbridled sadistic glee. There was the sound of something inky and huge clawing their way across a wooden floor and splashing into an ink portal, then sounds of someone crawling through a vent. If the pleased humming was anything to go by, Henry had likely kicked a vent grate right out of the wall and into the face of his warped creation. Sammy let out a chuckle. Norman heaved out a mechanical sigh.

\---0---0---0---

“Just popped out from behind the vent like it was safe! As if I couldn’t donkey kick the thing right into his smarmy face. I think I saw an eye through the hippie bangs he’s got. That’ll teach him to reduce his vision just for a silly fashion statement.” Henry scoffed, holding Bendipe under one arm, a pleased lift to his gait.

“Sounds like you stuck it to him.” Sammy joked.

“I did, the grate stuck to his face, he ran off with it.” The two ink beings snorted, or in Norman’s case, flickered in silent laughter. Boy it was great to have Henry back. For the first time in a while, both consciously agreed with the text written on the wall above the vent Henry had crawled out of. Dreams really do come true, if someone like Henry is on the case.

\---0---0---0---

“The world has never seen? Really? Evidently this guy never saw a French tank with an ugly nose get stuck in a particularly deep pothole. Now that was a colossal blunder.”

“Henry no, he said wonder. Colossal wonders.” Sammy played the tape again, Henry dutifully listened, gave an ‘oh’ of realization, and conceded to Sammy being correct. They all took in the pictures, grateful that Norman’s light was bright enough to give them an easier time reading the notes on the wall.

“I swear here and now if I find an actual steam train down here, I’m going to pull Joey’s spine out his nose. Not because of the absurdity, but because of the wasted funds that could have been spent making more cartoons.” Henry squinted at the train image, giving it a warning look. The other two dearly hoped there was a full steam train. Norman hoped the carnival would net an even better response. Sammy, who didn’t know what was ahead, took one look at the Projectionists’ far too eager stance, and braced himself for the fallout.

“Oh wait, didn’t he mention a park in that tape? I’ve never seen a cartoon themed park on the streets, what’s he talking about?” Henry questioned. If projectors could smile, Norman would be. He took what he could get however and _beamed_ at Henry.

\---0---0---0---

“Norman. Boost me.”

“What?”

“Bend down so I can get onto your shoulders.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t ask why you named all of your projectors after flowers did I? Boost me.”

Norman, blatantly ignoring Sammy’s snort did as requested. Both of them watched Henry pull a small brush from one of his pockets, then a tiny ink pot, then, with a flourish, began drawing. Sammy had given a more proper response to the underground fairgrounds than Henry had. Then again, if the clown makeup he was inking onto the Bendy on the sign was anything to go by, Henry was responding in his own way. Bendipe, leaning against a wall right next to Sammy, watched, warm smile growing wider.

\---0---0---0---

“Wally, you incompetent broccoli sprout.” Henry spoke with so little inflection, somewhere in the ink, a person flinched, calling out Henry’s name.

“Getting out of here sounds like music to my ears.”

“What ears?” Norman said at the exact same time Henry said “But I thought you wanted to hear the sweet sound of Joey apologizing.” Sammy in response, punched Norman on the arm, and nodded in agreement to Henry’s statement. The four, or rather, three able-bodied ones, broke off to do as Wally said, picking a game and playing it. Norman’s swing hit the button so hard it cracked and the bell’s ring echoed clear across the room like a gun shot.

“Tell me, are you having fun? I’m sure Boris doesn’t mind waiting for his rescue party.” Alice maliciously teased. As a reply, Henry pointedly shot each and every target with deadly precision, not missing a single center circle. Sammy took the bottles out quickly, not wanting to be the reason they were slowed down. He didn’t expect for a Bendy plush to be shoved into his arms by Henry the second he was done.

“Bendipe needs a buddy, but I need one free arm. Carry that for me, please.” Sammy dumbly nodded and clutched the plush to his chest. Norman began trying to figure out what Henry was going to name the little thing. Both took Henry’s request in stride, there was simply no other option.

They did find it funny when Henry had taken one look at the suits and screamed. Him ripping them apart to ‘cleanse the world of their ugliness’ was icing on the cake in their opinion.

\---0---0---0---

“Bertrum you absolute failure. May thousands of electricians, union workers, and pigeons all swarm you in the afterlife and deliver power punches directly into your spleen. May the pigeons obscure your tombstone so much that your name is lost to the ages.” Henry flipped the switch marked with a one while he ranted. Angry at the blatant poor design, and angrier still he couldn’t deliver a swift punch to the man’s gonads himself.

\---0---0---0---

Norman’s presence alone made the butcher gang scatter, though Sammy suspected it might have been more because one had taken but a single glance at Henry, screamed, and dove for the fire. Choosing death by flame over whatever Henry might do. Sammy, idly scratching his chest, could relate. Either way, the three had gone one way, found an animatronic, which Henry had poked at, fully expecting it to leap at his face, pouting when it didn’t.

“With each passing hour I grow more disappointed with this place.” He grumbled.

They went the other way, found the switch, then quickly moved in, eager to get the search for Alice over with.

\---0---0---0---

“What.”

“Oh wow, one whole attraction.”

“The single ride built before everything went to shit and it’s my least favorite.”

“Hey did it twitch?”

“Shut your speaker up, I’m trying to hear the angry rant.”

“ _Is that a fucking face?!”_

_“It lives!”_

**_“Vengeance!”_** With a bold warrior cry, Henry quickly but carefully put Bendipe down in a corner where he’d be safe, then dove into action. He made good on his vow to deliver a swift punch to the machines nether’s.

“Henry, no! That’s not…oh… Oh shit.”

“Yes! Finally! Someone else to suffer his wrath while I can see it!”

“Sammy! Not the time! Grab that axe and help me!”

“Help you what? I guarantee we can’t do anything that—" Sammy was interrupted by a shriek of pure confused pain. “That’s worse than what he’s doing right now.”

“Yes, but his thrashing might throw something at the cutout and _I’m not willing to join Bertrum._ ” It took only a second for Sammy to see Norman’s point, race for the axe, and take up point, guarding Bendipe with his life. It didn’t take long for Henry to relocate a few internal workings, causing the creature that Bertrum had become to let out one long scream of agony before going silent. The outer arms ceased all motion, the gears inside ground to a painful sounding halt, Henry climbed out, victory on his expression, self-satisfied glee in his step.

“Henry, did you really have to gouge his eyes out with his own jaw?” Norman weakly asked, staring at the result of Henry’s revenge in horror.

“For the good of all electricians and sane builders? Yes, yes I did.” Henry replied. Norman left it at that, finally understanding that of the creatures met thus far, he’d been the luckiest. A plunger to the face was far less gruesome than anything he’d just seen. Without a pause, Henry located the switch, and strolled back to the central room, the two followed him. Noting Bendipe’s content grin, the two decided the dancing demon was just as cruel as his creator.

\---0---0---0---

“Oh! Look at his outfit! It’s so perfect!” Henry cried out, taking in Bendy’s train conductor outfit, shedding a single tear of joy.

“Bendipe, I tell you what, I’m going to make you and Plundy that outfit and you’ll both be just as adorable.” He pat the plush and the cutout on the head, Sammy unquestioningly holding the plush out so he could.  Bendipe gained an excited twinkle.

\---0---0---0---

“ _An actual fucking train?! Joey!”_ Henry screamed, jaw dropped, eyes wide. Sammy burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. Norman sloshed through the ink, figuring he might as well get the switch while Henry was frozen. As it was, only Sammy noticed Bendipe’s sudden tight smile. Confused, he looked around. He just about choked on his own ink when a very familiar pressure descended on the room. Without pause, he hefted Henry up and shoved him into the little miracle station. Norman, having flicked the switch, noted Henry’s cry of surprise, quickly making his way back. Henry was trying to break the door down, displeased with being forced in a tiny booth.

Sammy would have been suspicious of the sudden silence when Norman let out a screech, being the first to actually see Boonine—both had agreed, after hearing the face incident, that the man deserved that silly name—and braced for a fight. Sammy weakly waved to the being, plush in arm. Boonine, or Joey, snarled back at them.

“Nice vent marks Joey, you add those yourself?” Norman, deciding appeasement was for weenies, threw caution to the wind and did what Henry would do. Boonine launched across the room and the two towering ink creatures crashed together. Sammy, unsure of what to do, stepped away from the door and tried to help Norman.

“Winter of ’29!” He cried out, Boonine, mid swing, locked up and ducked instinctively. That was all Sammy and Norman needed.

“Oh it really is you. Drew you son of a bitch!” Norman swung as hard as he could, slamming his fist into Boonine’s gut. The man turned ink creature let out a wheeze and wrapped his arms around Norman’s head. Sammy, realizing he was trying to tear Norman’s head off, was stuck, too frozen to do anything, years of mindless worship warring with current needs for revenge.

“Hey! Bowdy!” Came a voice that Sammy knew should have been behind him in the little miracle station. Boonine, now Bowdy, whipped around, loosening his hold on Norman. There was but a single moment when the two, human and former human, stared each other down.

“Joey. Do you remember what I said I’d do to you if I came back and found you’d jacked up my Bendy?” Henry said with deceptive lightness. Bowdy seemed torn between trying to intimidate him and just reaching for him. Henry’s eyes blazed with unholy wrath a split second before he was moving. It happened almost faster than any but the cutout could follow. One second Bowdy’s head was on his body, the next, it was sailing through the air. Norman, quick thinking Norman, blasted Ave Maria out his speaker while the body stumbled back and fell over. The head sailed clear across the room, skipped over the ink like a skipping stone, and sunk below the surface. Henry leaned on his pipe and kept his gaze on the body. Only giving Norman one very happy grin as thanks for the perfect complement to the swing.

“Get your ugly little ass back up. I know you aren’t done for and I’ve got debts to collect.” Henry sneered, tapping a lone finger on the pipe. Bendipe, who stood behind him though no one knew how, had a vicious grin. Norman took that moment to hold up the tape recorder he’d found and dropped before being charged. The unimpressed frown only grew on Henry’s face. True to form, the head regrew from a puddle of ink that had dripped for the neck. Joey regained sight and promptly regret growing his head back.

“Murdering my friends, bastardizing my brain-child, not greeting me at the door, funding the build of that piece of shit machine upstairs, the list goes on, Drew. But if there’s one thing you can look forward to…You’ll be dreaming of a whole lot more than tricking the masses.” Henry had a far too casual air to soothe Joey’s nerves. Deep within, he heard hysterical laughter and joyful cheers. It was the shift in Henry’s stance that was his only warning. He didn’t even have time to react before Henry and all the wrath that had been building descended on him. Norman and Sammy watched with varying horror and glee. Indeed, the various promises of pain that Henry had said, came to be. They’d _never_ talk about how he’d gotten the spine out, frankly not wanting to remember it.

The beat down would last so long even Alice would shuffle from where she’d hid and watch the show. The human part of her screaming in vindictive elation. It was only when Bowdy managed to escape due to the sheer amount of ink that was pouring out of places that shouldn’t even exist did Alice quickly return to her place, heart thudding, lips spread in a grin so wide her eyes watered. Bowdy wasn’t dead, but he’d be licking his wounds for a damn long time. Norman, Sammy—who still held Plundy to his chest—let out disappointed groans. Henry almost appeared to _let_ him run, not even bothering to come after the figure vanishing into the ink. He wiped the ink from his face, arms, behind his neck somehow… Bendipe, free from any ink splatter, unlike Sammy and Norman, stared on.

\---0---0---0---

The general mood of the group was akin to that of a pride of lions after a particularly successful hunt. Their mood wasn’t even slightly affected by Alice, who, they noted, sounded a fair bit less hostile towards Henry. Henry however, was a fair bit disappointed in how bland the horror house was, he joked about it being about as scary as his current situation surrounded by inky former humans. Alice’s mood was far too high to be killed by the potential insult. Unfortunately, that would not last. While walking through, Henry was well aware he was likely walking into an ambush, he really didn’t put it past her, so he plotted.

With some careful and quiet maneuvering, Norman took his place in the car, crunched in comically, clearly unimpressed. Henry, the second the gate opened and let him into what could only be called ambush central, proceeded to park Bendipe and Plundy into a corner near the gate, well away from potential danger. He then began using the poorly built walls in a way they probably shouldn’t have been. He scaled them and shifted until he was directly above the other gate. Norman and Sammy, not wanting to stand idly by like they’d been doing, braced.

Boris didn’t know what hit him. All he’d been able to see before being bodily thrown into the next room was a bright light. Henry, seizing his opportunity, leapt from the wall onto Boris’ back.

“Traitor!” Henry proclaimed, ripping the strange headgear clean off Boris’ body. Boris, apparently smarter than perceived, didn’t hesitate to grab Henry’s shirt before he could react and spin, tossing Henry into a stack of mystery-filled potato sacks. Sammy and Norman decided now was their time to help Henry.

“Henry! Get over to Bendipe and Plundy, we’ll handle him.” Sammy called out, darting close and delivering a solid punch directly into Boris’ snout. The wolf lurched backwards from the blow, eerily enough, not letting out a single sound other than a low growl. Norman grabbed the arm being swung at Sammy, planted one foot on Boris’ back and the other as solidly on the ground as he could, and _yanked_. The mechanisms in the arm shrieked, giving out after a brief fight, and with a spray of ink, one arm was torn off. Sammy, twisting around Boris like a snake, ripped a stray pipe from his back and bashed him upside the head repeatedly with it. Nimbly dodging the remaining arm. Norman broke from the fight to ensure Henry wasn’t anything but surprised.

Sammy was doing an impressive job of rearranging Boris’ face, the wolf barely had time to react, much less retaliate. Henry, leaning against the wall, checking his ribs for any cracks, cheered Sammy and Norman on. Norman, out of habit, let out a shriek that sent Sammy scrabbling off of Boris, narrowly avoiding Norman’s charge. Boris was sent into the track, smashing against it so hard his neck contorted to its’ shape. Sammy returned, ripping innards from Boris while Norman pinned the squirming body down. Boris never stood a single chance, or rather, what remained of him never did. Henry tried to feel bad, but Boris had done exactly nothing besides make Henry cook soup just so he could leave the safehouse. That and crawl through a vent and pull a lever, Boris hadn’t even tried helping him fight a few searchers earlier on. Therefore, he wasn’t sad.

He knew damn well Boris could fight. As it was, his back ached but that was about it. He picked Bendipe up, Plundy following suit very soon after, and started for the other two while Boris melted into the ground.

“Everything I’ve thrown at you.” Henry stopped, immediately twisting so Bendipe was behind him, away from Alice. “Everything, and you and your sympathizers have beaten it. I made him as strong as… what did you call him again? That’s right, Bowdy. You three beat him. How can you just stroll in here and do what you do?!” She stomped her foot, heel cracking the wood floor, hand clutching her weapon of choice tightly. Her breathing was heavy, as if she was fighting an internal battle.

“Honestly? I’m a cartoonist before I’m a fighter, of course I’d try to find the lighthearted way of winning!” Henry responded, ignoring Norman and Sammy’s shared scoff at being called sympathizers.

“It’s not fair!” She cried, shoulders shaking. “You were supposed to do everything we told you to. You were supposed to run and hide from the Projectionist, and instead you’re making friends! You’re pulling minds back from the ink with a _plunger_ of all things!”

“Alice, you obviously didn’t see what he did to me.” Sammy tried, he dodged the wild swing she threw at him in response, but didn’t retaliate, nor did Norman.

“Why did you decide to spare them?” She asked Henry weakly.

“I spared Sammy because I felt like what I’d done to him was enough. Seriously, those nipples were not where they currently are.”

“I can’t go near a banjo ever again. He didn’t spare me, he just kept Joey from… Bowdy, from ending me.”

“Yeah, and Norman was one of my buddies! I figured the best way to explore cartoon hell was with friends. So what better way than by seeing if I could get him out of his madness? You aren’t mad, at least, not as mad as some of the other creatures in here, so Norman had to be the same.” Henry reasoned, giving her a steady but light look. Alice looked to be debating internally, the inner fight lasting a good minute.

“Can…” She paused, looking at her feet, then looking back up. “I hate Joey, I hate that man far more than I hate you. Can I join you? I get the feeling that, if I’m around you misfits, I’ve got a better chance of fixing my imperfections.” She seemed to realize the oddity of the last sentence, her face twisting into a weakly displeased frown. Norman shrugged, Sammy shrugged, Bendipe stared, Plundy stared, and Henry nodded.

“Sure, the more the merrier!” Henry said, and that was right about the time when another Alice charged out of the gate and went at Alice with a sword of all things. Henry didn’t think, he just shouted ‘Duck!’ and threw a board near his feet at the other Alice. There was a thunk, a shout of surprised pain, then panting from another Boris charging in. Their Alice spun around and blocked Boris’ swing with the weapon still in her hand. Sammy took the chance, stomping over, grabbing Boris by the waist, and throwing him to the floor.

“I _just_ ripped the spleen out of another one of you, is attacking us really that smart an idea?” Sammy hissed, tilting his head at Boris just enough for it to be highly unnerving.

“Wait!” The other Alice cried out, getting back to her feet but refusing to drop her sword.

“Whatever you say Peter Pan.” Henry remarked, entirely displeased with the current situation. His ribs still ached, and the throw had done nothing to help it.

“Peter.. My name is Allison.” The woman snapped.

“Can I call you Tinkerbell? I feel like having an Alice and an Allison will be very, _very_ confusing. Also, we just sort of murdered a Boris, so is he an actual Boris or is he like Sammy and Norman and Alice.” Henry picked Bendipe up, deciding there was no longer a threat. Bendipe caught Allison’s eye and she jerked back.

“You’re carrying a cutout?! He can see through them! Put it away, break it!” She shouted, diving for it. Henry regret thinking there was no more threat. It was Alice that blocked Allison however, shoulder checking the woman mid-step and sending her to the floor.

“Not that one.” Was all Alice said before she realized what she’d done, hastily stepping away from Allison and Henry. Bendipe stared at her, wide grin in place, it wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t hostile and she wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Look, I’m not exactly willing to get in another fight so soon, could we all mosey before my back gives out?” Henry finally said after a long moment of silence from all sides.

“We were trying to help you, Henry.” Allison replied, helping Boris up.

“Wait, Allison was the other voice actress for Alice Angel.” Sammy spoke up, squinting at her. She stared back, not agreeing with him or denying anything. Henry gestured for Norman to come closer and slumped on him. Norman didn’t so much as lean from the sudden introduction of weight, he simply pulled Plundy from Henry’s grip, gave him to Sammy, and, unable to resist, blasted ‘Stuck in the middle with you’ once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's that! For this round that is. I have other things planned for Bendipe. For now, I can only hope you all enjoyed an alternate take of the events in the game thus far. The sad thing is my favorite chapters are the shortest. Chapter 1 and 2 really were the best of the game. Anyway, before I ramble, I had fun with this, I hope you all had fun reading this, be prepared for more Bendipe stuff and a few Bendy and Cuphead crossovers in the future. Hell, I've even got a crossover with Fallout in mind. You'll all have to wait for that one though. One day, I may just write a more serious retake on the BatiM series. I'm not sure though, whatever comes will come I suppose!


	9. Queens and kisses (Genderbend AU, Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints of Snake eyes, at least on Devil's part. Running a casino in a time when harrassment in the work place was expected is just asking for trouble. Though, manhandling the right-hand woman of the Devil might not be the best way to seal your stay in Hell. Especially when the rest of the workers join in on a Game.

Casino’s had an unfortunate tie with speakeasies. Both were known to skirt the line of legality, both typically had shady sorts abound within their walls, but only one could claim it was run by the literal Devil. The Lady of Hell’s Casino was about as ritzy as they got, easily outshining any other seedy establishment by leaps and bounds. There was even a Hotel attached to it for guests too drunk to escape. What few knew, or rather, what the newcomers didn’t remember, was that it hadn’t always been like that. Before Q.D.—the way many of the workers preferred referring to the dark times—it was exactly how one would expect, being a place run by the Devil. It was dark, there were mysterious scratch marks and stains in the carpets and wood, there was always an unbearable stench in the air; it was like Hell had coughed up a building to rake in more sinners, sparing little thought to actually attract them.

The moment Queen Dice had agreed to take the job she’d been offered by Devil, after months of begging and careful comedy by Devil herself, things changed. The other workers could only watch or realize in awe as Queen Dice seamlessly got them off their asses and got on her hands and knees the first week, getting everyone to just _clean_. The entire workforce, including the imps, scrubbed the Casino until it was about as clean as it would get. Frustrated at the shoddy carpet, she’d flat out begun tearing it up, employing Mrs. Wheezy when it became evident she was far too weak to truly get it up. Devil, who to everyone’s shock, _had been helping_ , used it as a chance to show off her own strength.

Everything decrepit, old, or too filthy, were replaced or rebuilt. Things were added, though it was clear when the thing added was Devil’s fancy rather than Queen’s decision. Soon, the casino shone like a beacon of pure class sitting on the edge of Hell itself. She also took the time to overhaul the workers. Somehow, none really knew, she trained the Imps to descend on any cheaters, dealer or guest, that rigged the system too far. She got Pip and Dot to stop scaring guests needlessly. Mrs. Wheezy tossed out the old perfume she’d worn—stuff that clogged noses even worse than her smoke—and picked up a workout regiment that bulked her up. Mrs. Chimes, the one no one believed could be reeled in due to sheer levels of insanity, readily listened to Queen Dice. Though there was debate on whether Mrs. Chimes did it for her own amusement, a sense of duty to her new manager, or because Queen Dice had done something to scare her.

She’d done more than overhaul the workers though, she re-rigged the games. Instead of blatant favor towards the house, as it’d always been, she turned it to a more balanced play.

“What fool is going to come to a place they’ll never win?” She’d said when asked, wiping a speck of dirt from her clean-cut suit. Those working there had mumbled an agreement and let her do her thing. Sure enough, more people did, in fact, come. The horse race stands were near constantly full up, when before, they’d barely filled the single stand they had in the first place. People of all sorts were coming to take a look, easily forgetting that the very beast of sin lurked within the walls of the building. It was too easy to do so, Queen Dice, always wearing a perfectly cut dress-suit, sleek figure with manners to compliment her figure, was the face of the casino. Hell, it got to the point where people forgot Queen Dice, who didn’t even have a true physical body, just a magical one that filled out whatever clothing she donned that day, was the reason some would come to the casino.

They wanted to see the manager who’d somehow wrangled a casino full of sinners while still maintaining a frail appearance. She’d stand out among the other workers, most of the workers towered over her, taller by a good foot in some cases; she simply had a disarming appearance that few could look past. Sure, some would catch one of her darkly amused smiles as she watched a person dig themselves a financial grave and realize she wasn’t all charm. But they’d forget later when she soothed ruffled feathers and reassured a gambler that ‘just one more throw’ wouldn’t hurt. It grew harder to put her with someone like the two pit bosses/bouncers, when she took to the stage. Her voice alone was the reason they got heavy traffic on the weekends. Devil didn’t mind, she could usually be seen in the rafters, sending doe-eyed, wistful gazes at the woman below.

It only became a problem when the more bold, brash, or flat out drunk guests began _touching_. No one wanted to bother Mangosteen. Woman was built like a tank. Every time she summoned her physical body, it would crush the floor she was standing on, and her muscles would bulge too much for her to fit through any doorway without breaking it. Mrs. Wheezy, though smaller, cut no less an imposing figure. She had broad shoulders she readily used to knock rowdy guests down and thighs that rumors said could crush a skull in three seconds. Mrs. Wheezy, who had never tried doing so, began dreaming of the day she’d get to try it. Piroulette had a cold expression that scared any woman trying to flirt with him away. Chips was too bubbly and excitable for many guests, scaring away harassers with a single pointed look and a bullseye in her targets.

Pip and Dot radiated the creepy twin vibes, often watching passers-by and giggling for reasons unknown. They’d also been seen carrying a cheater up into the rafters. The cheater was never seen again. Mrs. Chimes, everyone agreed, was too terrifying to even contemplate flirting with. They also suspected she ignored Queen Dice’s decree of almost fair gameplay because few people ever even won her game. Phear Leap was far too engrossed with the betting pools and taking care of her horses, thus, was rarely seen unless a game was about to begin. Even then, she was behind glass, marking names and taking bets with impressive precision and speed. Hopus, the last time someone had laid a hand on her, had flat out torn their throat out with her teeth. She then made the body ‘disappear’ and laughed when the person’s partner had screamed about calling the police.

 The police never came.

The list went on, the tipsy troop had their own personal bodyguard. Martini loved to act drunk, but those who knew Queen Dice knew she’d never let someone blitzed out ever work the floor. Those that didn’t learned the hard way when they tried harassing or intimidating the two women behind the counter. It rarely ended in their favor. As a plus, the person that had constructed the bar counter had gotten a thank you letter from Queen Dice.

‘Impeccable build, this thing has taken many a face and I’ve yet to see even a scratch on the varnish. You are entitled to one free favor from Devil, rest assured your soul will not be damned for eternity upon using this favor.’. They’d used the favor to get brand new tools that would never lose their sharp edges, not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

All that was left for the less brave but no less bold, was Queen Dice herself. She wasn’t muscled, she wasn’t staring at people in a creepy way, she never ripped out a throat and made someone disappear. But, as one man learned, and many more would follow, that didn’t mean she was helpless. The man, drunk and far too arrogant, had decided to try and get Queen Dice to sit on his lap. He’d cracked a joke about having the luckiest dice in the house ensuring he’d win the next game. She’d barely had time to try and lean away before he’d grabbed her arm and yanked her towards him. Her hand had pulled, the sleeve rising to expose empty air where a wrist should be. He’d tugged harder until she’d been forced to press her free hand to his chest.

Barely a second after her surprised, indignant cry had come out did a bullet find its’ way in his skull. There’d been gore splattered over the table, but no one focused on that. They focused instead on Chips cheering in the background, crying out about a bullseye from clear across the casino. The imps descended on the body a moment after, removing any trace of the man having ever been there. Queen dice adjusted her shirt, fixing the collar and shooting a frigid glare at the empty seat. Above, in the office that overlooked the casino, they heard the shrieks of someone falling under Devil’s wrath. The guests were quick to return to what they had been doing, Hopus strolled over to ‘make the stains disappear’ from the table.

\---0---0---0---

Of course, one incident became two, became four, became many. Queen Dice simply didn’t, and couldn’t, cut any form of scary figure. She theoretically could, but that would risk doing more harm than good for business. People apparently took Devil _only_ enacting punishment after the victim had hopped the mortal coil from various methods employed by the other staff to mean Queen was fair game. Queen Dice, fed up with the bold hands and brash grabs, decided to start a game. She got to employ it that very day, something she’d been excited and annoyed about. The person had been winning up until one unlucky roll. They’d cried out in despair at their lost wealth, spotted Queen Dice one table over, then apparently forgot common sense.

The human had reached over, wrapped an arm around Queen Dice’s waist, and tugged her into his lap. She’d given a lone huff of surprise, too stunned to do much else. The man felt her twist, realized she was trying to turn in his lap, and let her. After a quick adjustment she’d managed to swing her legs over so she was primly perched in his lap. She bat her thick lashes at him, sultry smile curling her lightly painted lips perfectly. Draping one arm over each of his shoulders, she’d leaned in, pressing her cold chest to his.

“I see, you’d like a kiss for good luck?” She’d said, voice coy and smooth, sending a shiver down his spine. The dealer carefully stepped so they were to the side of the man but didn’t do much else. The man nodded, tilting his head up only to get a lone finger to his lips, barely brushing them. She leaned in further, the scent of an icy winter day filling his nose, then pressed a single kiss to his bare forehead. Those that could see, instantly noticed the lipstick mark left over, clear as day on his skin. She leaned back, slid off his lap, and watched his brain matter explode out the back of his skull, a bullet hole perfectly in the center of her kiss mark. She turned away as the imps descended, a cruel grin replacing the sultry smile.

That was only the start of her game.

There was a woman, screaming to high hell at a dealer, getting in their face and shoving them back. Queen Dice had seemingly appeared out of thin air, a concerned and ready-to-please smile on her face. The woman had turned on her, demanding she fire the dealer. Queen Dice had pointedly held out her hands in a soothing motion, the woman—sure her desire for revenge was about to come through—had taken one of Queen Dice’s hands, giving it a firm shake. Queen Dice’s eyes had flashed green, then she’d tightened her grip to a proper hold and returned the favor, patting the woman’s left forearm. The woman had only a moment to wonder why the extra grip, before Mrs. Wheezy was lifting her off the floor by the arm. There was a sharp snap, screaming from the woman filling the air a moment later.

“Try not to man-handle my dealer’s please, they’re oh so fragile and boney. Don’t you know?” Queen Dice spoke over the woman’s agonized screams while Mrs. Wheezy hauled her out. Mrs. Wheezy chuckling at the joke the whole way to the door, the dealers were all skeletons after all.

From there, people who were regulars, began trying to pick out the various cues Queen Dice used to call up specific workers. They wondered just how the workers could see her actions, then figured it was something to do with working for the Devil. A kiss anywhere was a mark for Chips. A brush or bump on a part or side of the body was a sign for Mrs. Wheezy or Mangosteen who always crushed or broke the bones on that side. There was a time when she’d playfully kicked her heel up and let her leg brush against the offender’s, evidently, after watching Piroulette lash one leg out and send the man soaring across the casino and right out the open door, it was Piroulette’s mark. Mrs. Chimes and Pip and Dot shared a sign as well, it being Queen Dice playing with their hair or whatever was on their head. They’d be yanked up to the ceiling and never seen again.

“Would you like to see a magic trick?” Was her way of calling Hopus from the rabbit’s corner. Those times were particularly gruesome. Hopus was as vicious as she was unhinged. A sharp whistle would call up Phear, the horse carelessly tossing the enraged guest into the stables to be stomped to death by the horses. Drinking from their glass called up the trio, they loved setting the victim on fire and watching the ‘pretty colors’ sear off flesh.

 It was a good thing most everything in the casino was fire-proof.

What everyone truly wanted to know, was what it would take, or what she did, to call out her boss. No one had ever seen the Devil respond to anything Queen Dice did. Some of the regulars even recalled watching an angry man scream that she was cheating him out of money, try to punch her, and break the chair he was in. She’d managed to dodge the punch in time, it only took a sharp intake of breath for imps to descend on him, shrieking their glee at their new meal. Some said the imps _were_ the Devil, just taking a new form. That idea died when Devil had taken a day to wander about the casino herself, idly strolling through the aisles, causing newcomers to sweat and shake. One had apparently tried throwing a cross at the Devil, as if testing to see if she truly was the ruler of sin. Devil still used it as a toothpick. That, as well at the shard of bone the imps had left for her.

As it was, people were curious, but not stupid. So, they waited for someone either drunk or bold enough to go past manhandling the manager. It took a few years, those that had been there grew pale at the memory of what they’d seen, but scarring and therapy didn’t prevent the story being told.

A woman, enraged that her husband spoke more of Queen Dice than her, had grown jealous. She’d grown so jealous in fact, that she’d taken to insulting Queen Dice any time the woman walked by. Queen Dice had ignored her, taking the insults as amusing quips. It was evident that some of the other workers found it less funny, but until Queen Dice reacted, they wouldn’t lift a finger. They believed Queen Dice had a plan. Really it was just that Queen Dice didn’t find the woman to be a threat, she also didn’t think the woman would be bold enough to do something stupid. Not when the woman had seen what grabbing or assaulting Queen Dice would net the assailant.

So, one fine night, with the place packed and busy, Queen Dice was focused on keeping everything running smoothly. Her stride was long and confident, moving faster to get where she needed to be before an incident occurred. It was when she was trying to get to a screaming guest that the woman acted. She’d thrown herself out of her chair and driven a knife into Queen Dice’s chest. Pulling it out, she’d stabbed and slashed Queen Dice four times.

Then the lights flickered.

Queen Dice shoved her away, hands shaking, eyes wide, body tilted so her head was further from the woman. Mrs. Wheezy had been seen diving over the counter before pitch blackness descended on the entire casino. An earth-shattering shriek, unholy in nature, sounding like a thousand people screaming at once, shook the walls. Queen Dice stumbled back away from the woman, trying to keep her dress from falling or exposing the emptiness underneath. Too much of a gap would send her head crashing to the floor, helpless, with no form to hold it up. She wore clothing for more than just propriety after all.

The woman tried going at Queen Dice again, clearly fine with digging a deeper grave. She didn’t even make a single step before a tail, scaled, whip-like, and black, drove itself into her abdomen. The Devil crawled out of the blackness behind Queen Dice, eyes alight with malice, all six of them glowing with power. Devil’s jaw could be heard snapping and bending, warping until her maw was almost draconic, full of sharp teeth and dripping an acidic drool. One thickly furred arm slammed down, covering half of Queen Dice’s figure. The only thing illuminating Devil was the lone chandelier above her, casting her in a white light. To onlookers, it felt like a mockery of the holy light depicted on the church’s stained glass.

She’d given the woman a truly frightening grin full of newly formed teeth.

“ _I sure hope that guy’s dick was worth the pain you’re about to experience for eternity, you **filthy sinner**_ **.** ” Devil snapped in a deriding manner. Her voice sending shivers down those around the area. A few spotted Queen vanish into the blackness, shielded by Devil’s massive, still growing frame. The woman let out one quiet plea for forgiveness, which was met with mocking laughter.

“ _You? Forgive you? Little miss indulgence? I haven’t even forgiven Wheezy for wrecking the file room.”_ Devil’s tail, still impaled in her abdomen, lifted her off the floor, it gave an almost playful wave that sent her flying through the air and crashing into her husband. The husband who had been trying to casually make for the door. He’d screamed at the sight of his wife’s blood splattered on his suit.

“ _You think you can get out of_ it too? _Coveting your neighbors wife is a sin, don’t you know?”_ The other casino workers had long since scattered. Diving for cover, watching the unfolding violence with glee.  Devil didn’t even wait for the two to get up, she converged on them, a mass of thick void-black eclipsing them for a moment, then carrying them to where ever she normally took those who wronged the casino. Despite being unseen, the wails of agony could be heard through the entire building. Five minutes later, Queen Dice was descending the stairs in a new outfit, looking crisp and clean as ever.

But what drew the eye the most, wasn’t her reappearance, it was the addition of her shadow. The shadow was warped… and beastly.

Not a single person approached her for as long as her shadow remained like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain i've stated it before, but I adore the juxtaposition between Devil and Dice. I love how the first worker besides the skeleton workers you see is that sleek little shit. Then here comes Devil, scruffy and more about blatantly getting in Cuphead's face than reeling him into a deal. It's just a lot of fun. 
> 
> So yes, I think Queen would be like a Jessica Rabbit in some ways. Where male Dice simply relies on his silver tongue and ability to read people, Queen lures them in with sweet words and coy actions. She'd be a true femme fatale. She'd also really enjoy team-building exercises that cleared the trash out all at the same time. I'd imagine giving it a few more years and only the truly blitzed out would try anything with her. You only need four pelts of varying species to really send a message about groping the staff. Would Devil be just as angry if someone shivved Wheezy or Hopus? Not really, pretty much everyone else has a solid body, and the strength that comes with it. Wheezy, for instance, would crush your skull and not even get a scratch her perfectly manicured nails.
> 
> Queen and King Dice are mostly all bark and no bite. "but they have magic!" Yes! Magic that relies entirely on the roll of a single die and will heal you or, if you're good, ensure you don't even get smacked for your grievance.


	10. Keep Those Records Playing (Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake eyes in this one.  
> Mr. DJ, keep those records playing, cause I'm having such a good time dancing with my baby.

“Can you believe the folks nowadays?” Devil asked, leaning one elbow onto the crushed velvet table cover. The lights around him cast a warm glow, illuminating the stage as well as the tables closest to it in a soft home like manner. His tail swayed gently at his feet, moving in time to the jukeboxes currently playing tune. Every once in a while, the song would start to reach its end, so his tail would grow longer to select the same song once more.

“Those weenies out there always foist the new stuff onto me, but I tell you what, I’d take your live performances over these stupid gramophones and jukeboxes. It’s grating having to constantly keep them going.” He griped, though there was no anger in his tone. If any observers could describe it, they’d say it sounded fondly exasperated. He swirled the glass of wine in front of him, watching the liquid slosh in the smudged glass. Glancing up, he caught sight of a purple sleeve, and continued.

“‘Don’t let those kids swing dance, that’s the Devil’s dance’” He mimicked a high-pitched voice, wagging his finger in a scolding manner. “Took me a whole year to learn swing! Devil’s dance, feh! Every new thing is mine, but when it comes to summoning me, ‘no no! Go old school, get that goat head, he doesn’t have a million of them yet!’” He took a big gulp from his glass, scruffy nails scraping the soft fabric covering the table.

“Of course, boss.” His manager replied, voice fond. “Do you truly expect anyone to believe a toga wearing angel is capable of doing the tango?”

Devil snorted into his glass, nearly choking on his mouthful of wine. Putting the glass down, he stood up, stretching his limbs, uncaring of the tangles in his fur pulling uncomfortably with the motion. He had lost his brush a while ago and was far too lazy to replace it. As if his partner had shared that thought, Devil huffed.

“Laziness is a sin isn’t it? What sorta devil would I be if I acted all busy-busy like you? Not all of us are such workaholics.” The music began to reach its final few notes. Without pause, Devil’s tail slithered around a few chairs and clicked the proper button to start the song over once more. He sat back down, though his leg bounced with a need to move. Devil glanced out into the rest of the casino, taking in the poorly lit building and completely silent race track.

“Then again, I think I might have gotten _too_ lazy.” He chuckled, scratching his cheek. Devil carefully avoided looking up, knowing he’d see an unimpressed gaze on his manager’s face. King Dice did always have that perfect judgmental, disappointed, and unimpressed expression. It never failed to make Devil’s ears tilt down in embarrassment. So instead of looking at his husband, he stood back up, and offered his hand.

“We all knew this place couldn’t last for eternity, there’s always something else I can do to get sin to fester. Now come on, I distinctly recall you _loved_ dancing, and we haven’t danced in a while. One final dance in our Casino, what do you say?” He said, giving his manager a bashfully hopeful expression. King Dice’s gloved hand placed itself into Devil’s own, King Dice’s fond expression only growing fonder. Devil smoothly spun around the table, pulling the violet suited man with him.

He began a smooth slow swing dance, paw pads making quiet shuffling noises only barely heard over the music still playing. The suit jacket swished with the sweet spins and small dips, rustling with every movement. Devil watched how the yellow glow from the lights played off of the violet fabric.

\---0---0---0---

None of the other casino workers made a single noise if they could help it. They shuffled around the dimly lit casino, movements aided by muscle memory. The tipsy troupe had long since put the glasses into storage, never to be used again. The liquor had been summarily chugged by the other workers and the bottles placed back as a sort of empty symbol of life. They weren’t sure what else to do with them, so they picked the route their manager might have taken. Phear leap had gotten a couple others to help clean the track, bolt the doors and seal off the entrance to it. The last horses had been sent off long ago. Phear couldn’t remember the last time the stables sounded so quiet.

Wheezy helped Chips go over the card tables. Every once in a while, they’d pass by Pirouletta who was focused almost fanatically on her own tables. She refused to look up towards the stage. Above her, Pip, Dot, and Hopus all made sure any entrance points to the roof were barricaded. It was difficult trying to use the faint glow from the bar and the one from the stage, but they were determined to do the job well. It was the last time they’d do it, and their manager would be annoyed if they half-assed it. Chimes, entirely quiet for once, helped where ever he was needed, the slot machines had long since been shut down, completing his job the moment the last one gave its final cheery ring.

In the glow of the stage lights, Devil clutched the empty suit to his chest. His claws dug in just enough to keep it in place, but not enough to pierce the fabric. Slow, fat tears began rolling down his cheeks. His tongue darted out trying to catch them before they could fall and potentially stain the jacket. He heard a painfully familiar soothing hum start up, matching the song in perfect harmony. Around his throat, a single pink die gave off a barely visible glow. The necklace it was attached too would clink every once in a while, when the wedding band matching the one still around his finger hit the chain, shifted with his choked back sobs.

The song began to reach its final notes, so Devil extended his tail, and started the song up once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proleter made a tribute to Sam Cooke's song "Having a party". The entire time I wrote this, I had it playing. I mostly wrote this to try my hand at sad and bittersweet things. I hope I did a good job at it.


	11. Silly clash of the Fairytale (Bendipe Au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of a series that will be moved to it's own story list later. For now, it goes here until I write a decent enough collection of them.  
> No pairings.  
> The story of Beauty and the Beast becomes Henry and the Beast.

One moment Henry was in the studio, being followed by Sammy and Norman, with Bendipe under his arm. The next he was staring at a wall he’d just run into. Bendipe, his precious cutout, was missing. Norman and Sammy were too, but they weren’t his brain-child. Therefore all he cared about was his missing buddy and partner in crime. Stepping back and looking around, he recognized less war-torn pieces of French architecture. Looking down showed he was wearing a blue dress with an apron in front. The sleeves barely fit around his arms when he flexed. Looking into a window showed a lone ribbon haphazardly tied into his hair.

To say he was confused would be a silly understatement. He grew even more confused when the town started singing around him about some woman while looking at him. Frowning deeply, he hesitantly made his way down the main street. It only got worse when all of them started screaming bonjour at him. A librarian sprung out and got knocked off his feet by Henry’s panicked swing. Not surprisingly people stopped approaching him, he did hear a few women talking shit about him, though he didn’t know why. Still, he had a mission. A mission that was once again paused by the sight of someone he hadn’t seen in years being hounded by Boris.

Across the street, looking like he was wearing clothing far larger than his beanpole body, was Joey. Joey, with zero ink covering his frame.

Joey looked at Henry.

Henry looked at Joey.

Boris looked between the two.

Henry frowned.

Joey cursed violently, and broke into a dead sprint, his shirt sleeves flapping behind him. Henry tore after Joey, murder in his eyes.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT” Joey shrieked as he ran for his life. Henry said nothing as he plowed through people, gaining on Joey from sheer determination alone. The dress merely acted as extra inspiration.

“Beauty is chasing Gaston so rudely! Goodness he’ll never win Gasto—” A woman, mid-sentence, was body slammed into a store-front window with extreme prejudice. Joey continued sprinting, face turning red with exertion.

By the end of the mad dash through town, Joey was somehow on the roof of a tiny cottage, and Henry was prowling around below, eyeing the roof like one would their most hated enemy.

“You’ll come down,” Henry hissed, not taking his eyes from Joey. “You’ll come down for food and I will be ready, and then you can kiss your ability to reproduce goodbye.”

“Henry please!” Joey cried, inching further up the roof. “I don’t know what’s going on either! One second I’m…uh… and the next I’m here!”

“Interesting, one second my foot will be on the ground, the next? It’ll be so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste the mud that splashed on my knee.” Henry reached for the rake, likely to use it as a javelin, but right as he went to throw it, Boris grabbed him around the middle and Wally stepped out from the house, waddling due to the three pumpkins shoved under his shirt.

“Henry?”

“… Oh he’s a dead man.” Henry drove his elbow into Boris’ stomach, and used the downed wolf as a springboard to reach the roof. Joey screamed. Wally screamed. Boris cried. It would take a full ten minutes and a couple beat downs to settle everyone.

\---0---0---0---

“I’m in a dress.”

“Indeed.”

Joey spoke, but it was muffled under the bag of ice pressed to his nose.

“I’m in a dress, people are calling me Beauty, and Joey Gaston. The only story I know of that has a beauty is Beauty and the Beast. And I swear on my mother, if whoever the Beast is has my Bendipe, I’m coming home with a new fur rug.”

“What if it is Bendipe?”

“What?”

“What if the Beast in the castle is Bendipe.” Wally had all of four seconds to realize his error before Henry was launching across the table to work on beatdown number three. Joey just pushed his chair out of range and marveled at how Henry made Wally eat floorboard so quickly.

\---0---0---0---

“Whatever the situation, I need to find my Bendipe. He could be in trouble and my poor boy is but a mere cutout.” Henry lamented, staring out the window towards the castle in the distance.

“Go do that.” Joey muttered, pressing the ice to his jaw once more.

“We’ll stay here, hold down the fort if you will.” Wally supplied, mentally vowing to never speak anything but praise about the cutout while in Henry’s presence. Henry shook his head.

“And give you the chance to escape? What if the minute we’re no longer close enough the studio returns? No, we need to stay close. Besides, if my theory is correct, that means an angry mob started by Jo-ho is going to be storming that castle.”

“Are you kidding me? What moron would attack Bendipe in your presence, I called him a beast and you just about broke my face.”

“I broke your face because in this story the beast is ugly and my Bendipe is a looker.” Henry retorted, glaring at Wally.

“You’re more violent because Bendipe isn’t near you… aren’t you.”

“You are correct. Now get ready, we’re storming a castle but we’re not bringing pitchforks.” With that, Henry went for the door, and, not wanting to incur his mother bear wrath, the trio behind him followed.

\---0---0---0---

The castle doors didn’t last more than three hits before they were torn open by Henry. Wally shouted about how the dangerous ink demon could be the beast and he would now know they were there, tow which Henry responded with a malevolent grin. Joey wished he had the body the hunk of the tiny French town was supposed to have. If only to add extra padding when Henry made him fend off an angry town.

In the entrance stood two other familiar faces, though these two were in their ink forms. Sammy took one look at Wally, and let out an impressive string of curses. Norman tried playing angry music on his speaker, but since radio hadn’t been invented in that story, he was left with empty static. Wally noted that even through the static, he knew Norman was affronted. He weakly waved at them, and had to leap away from Joey’s general vicinity before Sammy was lunging for the man. Henry merely had to clear his throat to make Sammy freeze.

“Sammy, Bendipe, where is he?” Henry asked, there was no room for arguing in his tone. Sammy bubbled a hiss at Joey but ultimately feared angry Henry more, so he and Norman led the trio into the castle to find Bendipe.

\---0---0---0—

The castle was covered in Bendy cutouts of all sizes, but Henry only wanted one. They found him in the ink soaked west wing, propped up next to a rose with a shag carpet and a toupee thrown haphazardly over his head. Henry just about wept with relief, right until he saw the staples holding the carpet in place.

“Oh there you are!” Alice’s voice rang out, Norman swung his light to face her and she squinted. Donned in magic looking robes, she blew a lock of her hair back away from her face, looking entirely put out.

“You would not believe how difficult it is to get people to stop calling you an enchantress. So I saw your odd group heading for this castle and followed.” She explained, as if not noticing the dangerous air filling the room. She didn’t miss the cold stare Henry was throwing at her though, nor the odd stuff covering Bendipe’s head.

Alice looked at Henry.

Henry looked at Alice.

Bendipe stared at shag carpet.

Alice glanced at her robe, immediately understood what her role was, let out an impressive curse, and bolted for the safety of the hall.

Henry let her go, well aware he would be better off fixing Bendipe the way the story wanted. Except…

“Bendipe, my darling child. Child being the key word, you are my dear brain-child and if some weird demon studio thinks I’m going to romantically kiss my son to break a silly curse, it’s got a date with gasoline and holy sulfuric acid to look forward to. Maybe a carpet bombing if I can get Richie on the phone before next Friday.”

The others in the room wished they knew Henry was joking. Alas, they knew damn well he wasn’t. There was a flash of light a moment later, the studio evidently realizing the same, or whatever magic had put them in a fairytale had. The shag carpet slid off of Bendipe, leaving him no worse for wear, though Henry did have to pluck the toupee from one of his horns.

The world rippled, as if everything was suddenly underwater, then, the next thing anyone knew, the scene had changed once more. Once more, Henry was minus a Bendipe.

Those nearby suddenly feared for their lives, though they didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did they get put in the disney version of that fairytale? Magic.  
> Are there going to be more of these? You so know it.  
> Yes, they will be around this short, maybe a tad longer for some, but these are my way of being silly. And lets be honest, aint nothing in the world gonna survive getting between Henry and his dear child. Even if it wanted to.  
> My only wish now is that someone draws Henry in Belle's dress with a stupid ribbon tied on one lock of his hair on top of his head before I do.  
> Or, at least to know I put that image in y'all's head and you aren't going to forget it any time soon.


	12. Bendipe The Fifth Fling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings
> 
> That's right! I live! Aaaaand instead of updating the chapter story I update this one... The other will update tomorrow probably so I'm not that sorry. This marks the end of Bendipe.

Henry stood quietly while the two new ink beings argued as if he—and the others—weren’t there. Ordinarily, he’d take offense to such a rude gesture, but frankly, he was too amused…and confused. Beside him stood Norman, who looked his usual non-emotive projector self. Then Sammy on his other side, who was the second most angry and offended of the group. The most offended was Alice. Her face, the half that wasn’t malformed, was flushed a dark grey, her eyes could have flooded entire continents with how stormy they were. He _really_ wasn’t sure how to take the not so subtle longing glances she gave to a nearby pipe. Though, if she really wanted to brain either of the two leading the group, he wouldn’t exactly stop her. He was old after all, and _sometimes_ , when he was blinking, it just _happened_ to last longer than usual.

“Tom, I just…he’s not like us.”

“Exactly Tom, Norman may not have obvious facial features, but he’s just as capable of showing how he feels, right Norman?” Henry spoke up, Bendipe, tucked under his arm, stared across the small hallway, smile wide. Norman’s light flickered, his speaker gave off an ungodly screech that reverberated around them in the metallic space. “Aw, you too buddy.” Henry replied fondly.

Allison winced, Tom snarled, Sammy idly kicked a puddle of ink towards the hound, Alice bit back a smile.

“Please, we’re not trying to offend anyone—”

“Oh? You aren’t? Well then, allow me be the first to congratulate you on your talent for effortlessly inciting thoughts of violence in those around you!” Alice’s saccharine smile was topped by a peppy bat of her lashes.

“Before anyone throws a wrench or punch, just as a reminder, any harm comes to Bendipe and I’m ending whatever starts.” Henry pat his dear little creation on his cardboard head. Allison and Tom paled at the sight of two pie-cut eyes staring right at them despite the angle being wrong. To clear the air, Allison cleared her throat first, and decided to start on a different topic.

“Henry? Why are you here?” She asked. Henry scratched at his chin.

“Joey wanted me to see something, apparently that was him breaking the second rule I gave him before I left. Now I’m here until I can shove my fist so far into Joey’s gut, he’s tasting what he ate at the studio’s grand opening.”

“I thought that was what we did earlier.” Sammy brought up. Henry, reminded of the relaxing little scuffle they’d had with Burndy, smiled.

To those that didn’t know him, it wasn’t a nice one.

Luckily for the newcomers, they’d arrived at their safe house, and ushered everyone in quickly. Tom growled at each person as Allison pointed out a few of the ‘features’. Alice rolled her eyes, but, the others noted how she didn’t stray far from Henry.

“Henry? You can have the bed in there if you’d like.” Allison raised her voice as she pointed to a part of the room that looked badly sectioned off. Henry, seeing an ulterior motive, gave her a nod, and did as she asked. “We can’t leave this place too often or the Ink Demon will find us. He…” Allison paused, sure the group would understand. Every single one of them nodded sagely, including Bendipe, much to her and Tom’s renewed horror. She hoped the paranoia of the other Alice would keep them from doing anything too crazy.

She would come to regret thinking that.

====-====-====-====

Henry woke to the sound of Sammy vowing to wear someone’s pelvis as a decorative hat. This was followed by Allison’s cries for “everyone to calm down”, which was met by Norman screeching. Sitting up, he found just how off-kilter everything had gone during his power nap. Alice stood in the corner, keeping herself between Tom and Bendipe. Sammy was keeping Allison from helping Tom who was grappling with Norman. There were boards put up in the doorway, keeping him trapped from the rest of them. He wondered if it was because he was human, or if they actually thought he was the biggest threat.

“That thing will tell him where we are! It has to be taken out and destroyed!” Allison explained, voice high-pitched with desperation.

Henry stood up.

“Allison.” His voice was plain, light, and entirely too unnerving. All movement ceased. The ink being in question held her hands palm up to Henry.

“Henry, we can’t keep that thing here, it’s how he—”

“He already knows it’s how that demon sees things, or did you forget there are others in this hell hole with a brain.” Alice interrupted, snarling. Henry noticed how one of her arms was mangled by what had to have been a blow from a weapon. He guessed it was the metal arm currently stuck to the Boris look-a-like’s upper arm. He held up a hand to Alice, silently asking her to let him have the conversation. She responded by pursing her lips, but ultimately went quiet.

“That right there,” he gestured to Bendipe, “is Bendipe. He is the closest thing to my true little devil darling this place seems to have beyond the old cartoon reels. He’s also under my protection. Now, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. You weren’t there to see me rearrange Sammy’s nipples, or use Boonsty’s head as a football. So, you don’t know the things I do to people who irk me.” He paused a moment, letting his words sink in. Allison looked more horrified than anything, Tom just bared more of his teeth. Henry decided Tom would be the first to get brained once he got out of the hastily made prison.

“What I’m trying to say is, and I’m sure my good friends told you, is if I had woken up and found my sweet little Bendipe broken to pieces, there’d be no need to fear Boonsty. He’d be the least of your worries.” The threat clear, he followed it up by delivering a swift kick to the lowest boards, snapping them like twigs.

In the ensuing silence, Alice put one hand on a popped-out hip, fixed her hair a bit, and snarked, “I _told_ you so.”

====-=====-====-====

For some reason, Allison kept begging them to stay in the safe room. Sammy bet it was because she was too cowardly despite her displays of bravado. Norman agreed, Alice snorted, Bendipe stared at a wall. Tom continued trying to threaten them, but Henry simply couldn’t find it intimidating. He’d see Tom, then he’d see Boris, and he’d remember the utter beat down his two dear pals delivered to the other, even more metallic, Boris.

He didn’t know how long they stayed in that place, but it was enough for him to fill his little room with comics.

====-====-====-====

“But what confuses me the most, is that you were about to stab Alice over there, but then not even two hallways later, you were talking about how untrustworthy Henry is. Did you _forget_ you were about to stab someone for the untrustworthy fleshy human?” Sammy, leaning against a wall, didn’t quite face Allison, but it was clear his question was aimed at her. She simply grimaced in reply.

====-====-====-====

“If I didn’t know how pathetic you were, I’d start a bet that you’re trying to poison Henry. But I _do_ know. Unfortunately.”

“If I didn’t know _you_ any better, I’d say you suddenly found a heart in that ink of yours.”

“We gave her _at least_ five! She better have a damn heart!”

Bendipe audibly snickered.

The safe house was silent for the rest of the day.

====-====-====-====

“I found this mirror, and found messages hidden!”

“Why is the wall calling you a liar?”

“You ever be so horrible even inanimate objects know it?”

“Alice!”

“Allison.”

“Big talk for tainted ink!”

“Are any of us _not_ made of the stuff?”

“I’m ninety percent sure Norman is made out of spiteful ink.”

Henry didn’t bother to hide his laughter.

====-====-====-====

“Tom! What were you thinking!” The blind fear in Allison’s frantic voice caught the attention of the others currently offering up ideas for comics Henry could draw. The group glanced up, except Bendipe. Allison paced in front of a wounded Tom. Had Henry not known Tom had tried destroying Bendipe, he’d be inclined to help Allison fix Tom’s arm. But Henry _did_ know, and it looked like Allison, through her rambling, knew what she was doing anyway.

“Oh! Bendy in Go Fish, with piranhas and a gag about whose teeth are sharper!” Sammy shouted, slapping his hand to the floor with pride. Allison stared at nothing, wondering if she’d made the right choice. Tom huffed.

====-====-====-====

“Holy mercy I was joking about the fish!” Sammy pressed one hand to the side of his face not covered by the Bendy mask, form drooping with disbelief.

“What?” There was a pause in Alice’s step.

“How in the world did you two scrape enough brains together to get an aquarium down here?!”

_“Why the hell wasn’t this one of the features?!”_

====-====-=====-====

Inky swirls curling towards the lights, marring the floors and walls, and crawling across the floor towards the most recent additions to the group, were first noticed by Alice. She shrieked, leaping onto Norman’s back, scrambling to stay away from the threat. Henry, more rested than he’d ever been in his life, bored to tears, cheered.

“Round two!” He cried out joyfully, even as Allison and Tom broke into a not so quiet argument.

“There’s safety in numbers Tom! He’s different! What if he’s the key to our freedom!?” Though Henry couldn’t understand Tom’s reply, he knew for a fact he wouldn’t have cared much for it anyway.

“Are you kidding? You’d be dead weight!” Alice snapped from her perch on Norman’s shoulders. No one bothered to tell her just how useful _she’d_ been to the group thus far.

“Is this because we tore that other Boris’ spleen out? Is that why you’re so sour to us?” Sammy, who, unlike Norman, hadn’t taken a sudden vow of silence, griped. Henry would bet money that the ink creatures knew exactly what Tom had said. “And for that matter, what is your issue with Henry? You were apparently all for helping us earlier! Are either of you remotely okay in the head?”

Norman gave off a spine chilling, crackling hiss. Henry snapped the top most board of his former ‘prison’, pondering how many hits it would last. Tom reacted by grabbing Allison and pulling her to the door, apparently deciding to abandon the rest. Instead of fighting him, she gave Henry one last pleading look, though Henry didn’t know why, and they were gone.

“Okay group vote, either we leave, or we wait for round two to present itself.” The group, suddenly serious, went quiet as the bangs and clangs of an awakened studio filled the silence. They sat in a circle, Bendipe propped up beside Henry. For a few minutes, no one said a thing. It was Norman that broke the silence first.

“I say we get out, there are things to explore down here, and Joey’s office is just a few floors down if memory serves me right.” Sammy nodded, and then paused.

“But hold on, I thought that thing we took down, the demon, _is Joey._ Isn’t it?” For reasons Henry couldn’t figure out, they turned to him for an answer. He looked back at them with confusion, then figured it couldn’t hurt to take a minute to _really_ look at the actions of the thing apparently tripping over every pan in existence outside the room.

“I think… I think it has Joey in it. He’s there, but… Fella’s it’s been thirty years since I saw that man. The way it walks, the way it holds itself, the poor sense of humor… it points to Joey. But I don’t recall Joey ever being this aggressive. Most he did was tackle another student in the fifth grade while screaming about justice... Fairly certain that was the kid that ate his sugar cube castle during lunch break. At the very least he’s here in this studio. And I’d also bet money on him being part of either the studio itself or round two.” Henry grew more certain as he reached the end of his short speech. The group grew less certain in turn.

“But…” Alice spoke weakly, the thought of not getting revenge settling heavily in her stomach. “How can you tell? No one has seen him, we’d all just been going on the hope that he was still pulling the strings.” Henry reached out and pat her shoulder, he gave her a reassuring smile.

“I know, Alice…” His reassuring smile dropped into a dead pan stare, “because if he wasn’t, my ‘Joey is being a jackass’ sense would have stopped after starting that piece of scrap metal upstairs.” The rest relaxed, taking comfort in Henry’s ever reliable antics.

“Then, I agree with Norman, we should get out of here, and continue ahead. I don’t think I like the idea of that cowardly mistake getting revenge before I do.” She stood, prompting the others to do the same. Henry picked up the mirror, debating keeping it, then gave it to Alice. He figured she’d want to observe things rather than risk tainted ink ruining her. She seemed to understand, if the barely-there grateful tilt to her lips was anything to go by.

Norman led the way, his light illuminating the darker halls and his presence alone scaring away the few searchers that sprang up. At one point, a searcher popped up close enough to leave a mark on Bendipe’s cheek.

The garbled wails for mercy ensured no other creatures bothered them for the rest of their journey down the halls.

When they reached places that were swamped with ink, Sammy was the one to carry Alice across. She sometimes broke into short little humming tunes that he’d compliment with his own tenor voice, giving the group a spot of pep the radio in Norman’s chest couldn’t quite match. At least until the two singers began to sass each other about carrying tunes.

Henry glanced at Bendipe, sharing a bright, big smile with his creation. Sure, he was still going to beat entire new fears into Joey once he found the other elder, but, he _might_ ease up _a tad_ , for giving him a chance at experiencing such an adventure.

Bendipe’s returned smile was warm.

====-====-====-====

“So…”

“A river of ink.”

“You think this is where they got the fish?”

“We’re supposed to take that piece of—” A massive hand burst from the ink, interrupting Henry’s budding rant about the barge creaking weakly in front of them. The group stared as it dragged a decrepit barge into the sludgy depths. Then looked back at the equally weak barge before them. Immediately, the group started looking around for other options. A generator behind them kicked on, and Henry got an idea.

====-====-=====-====

“I’m scared.”

“He said he’s a mechanic and an engineer, he fixed up Norman. Whatever he’s doing can’t be all—”

A burst of smoke sent Henry coughing, stumbling backwards towards the edge of the dock. Norman caught him wordlessly.

“Alice. I want you, and whoever made you to know… your song was the most annoying to make.”

“Go choke on a banjo.”

====-====-====-====

The group was on the barge.

The group was not _keen_ about being on the barge.

The best way to describe them was suspicious of the barge.

All but Henry and Bendipe. Though, quite tellingly, Henry put Bendipe safely in the middle where no harm could possibly befall him. This did not make the rest any less suspicious. Somewhere above, the big bad ink demon finally got an idea as to where the strays were, and, forgetting common sense, hurried to the river of ink to watch them get crushed by the beast in the ink.

None of them felt any more terror in their lives, than the moment Henry asked if Norman could play Ave Maria, told the rest to grab onto something tight, idly remarked about rocket propulsion, and flipped a switch.

====-====-====-====

The barge didn’t float merrily, merrily, merrily down the river, despite Henry’s horribly off-key humming saying so. It roared down the river in a blaze of ingenuity and creativity…and fire.

The only reason the barge even made the corners as it skimmed the surface was because the group collectively got _really_ good at leaning hard in whatever direction was needed.

If Bendy was being honest, and if he had the ability to speak, he’d have told whoever asked that he really didn’t know what to expect. But whatever he would have tossed out as a potential Henry way of getting through the river, it wouldn’t have been _rigging a new engine for the thing._

By the time the sweet singing of Ave Maria, and the sound of screams and curses, and the all too familiar voice singing the row the boat song registered, the group was already frantically throwing themselves to one side, narrowly avoiding the wall as they turned. Bendy got a flash of Sammy at the front, clinging to the bow with one hand, and his mask with the other. A dash of Norman blaring Ave Maria, light barely catching on Bendy’s thin form. Alice with gouges of wood showing how far she’d slid back before her nails got a proper dig into the boat’s side. In the center, the cutout; giving him the biggest shit eating grin, he’d seen in his life.

And in the back stood Henry, mouth open in the exact same grin as his creation.

Bendy took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then tossed all that to the wind, and screamed into the inky wall. The beast below awkwardly pat him on the back.

====-====-====-====

“We made it!” Alice ripped her fingers from the wood, turned shakily to Henry upon hearing his cheerful observation, and let out the sound a dying animal makes when it has no strength to really scream. Norman cut the radio, wobbly legs carrying him out of the barge faster than they looked to have the strength to. Sammy burst into bright cheers, kissing a pillar with the same worship filled enthusiasm he gave the demon back in the tunnel before the nipple incident. Henry, after checking Bendipe for any stray splotches of ink, joined the rest on the pier with a bounce in his step.

The odd sight of a tiny town by the dock had the group pausing, but not due to how weird it was, more to see what would be popping out to kill them.

It would be one of the few times the studio pulled a fast one on them.

As Henry approached the boarded up door, remarking about how annoying the weak attempt to barricade things in a studio full of the cheapest materials ever made, a scream in a familiar voice cut him off.

“Betrayed! Abandoned!” Another Sammy bit out in a garbled, twisted scream. Wild swings of an axe tore through the boards, and one stray swing caught Bendipe’s right horn, snapping it clean off.

Sammy, having been examining a bottle, didn’t hesitate to wing it to the ground, shout ‘Bail!’ to the rest of them, and immediately scale the nearest wall. Alice, who was closest, yanked Bendipe from Henry’s absent hold, well aware he let her do so, and carted the cutout to safety on the dock. Norman, a far too eager note in his speaker, hummed “Round two~.” Before dropping a board ripped from the door next to Henry.

====-====-====-====

Bendy, hearing screams that were familiar but not, trekked through the sludge, warping through the last half so he didn’t miss any carnage.

He wished he hadn’t.

He didn’t need to know what a broken board could do to an ink creature with enough force applied. He was also quite certain that where the pants were on the false Sammy, was not wher pants were ever made to go.

The screams though… They would haunt him more than any of the images would.

Bendipe stared at him from Alice’s tight grip, fully repaired, mustache topped smile on full display, malice bright in pie-cut eyes.

He just sank into the wall, deciding he’d had enough for one day.

====-====-====-====

Norman, leaning against a wall, staring in abject horror mixed with vindictive glee, was the first to spot Tom and Allison. He greet them how he normally greeted things he wasn’t entirely fond of. Namely, he screeched his infamous screech. He saw Alice flinch so hard she almost brained herself on the low roof above her; he counted it as an added bonus.

Henry turned at the sound, splattered with ink and bits of wood, glass, and whatever else he’d picked up in his war path. He waved at them cheerfully, ignoring the bubbling, sobbing pile of goo at his feet. Allison dry heaved. Tom very clearly examined the distance between them, even more clearly wondering if the distance was enough. Norman shook his head once in reply.

“We,” Allison paused, choking back down whatever came back up. “We wound up coming this way too.” She had a distinct greyish-green hue flushing her cheeks. Henry found it mildly interesting. But what he cared more for was his Bendipe being carried to him by Alice. He jogged to cut the distance away, scooping Bendipe from her arms and giving her the most heartfelt thanks he could. Sure, he could have just put Bendipe off to the side as he’d done before the first time he’d _dealt with_ Sammy, but the ink splatter was greater with this one. Thus, he decided it was a good thing she’d taken Bendipe away.

“I detect a lie in that statement, but I don’t care.” Sammy, halfway down the wall he’d scuttled up, sassed. Tom looked between him and the puddle of shivering ink, Sammy beamed, though no one could really tell.

“I’ve accepted that I’ll be needing therapy after this, that’s just another session to add to the pile!”

Tom would have responded, except a metric ton of searchers rose from the ground, surging up at the group.

Alice buried her heel in the face of one that decided she’d make an easy target, then did as Sammy previously had, and scaled a wall, fear of losing herself to the ink greater than her indignation. Sammy had no problems tearing the head off of one and using it to brain another. Norman let out another, far more powerful screech, belted Tiny Tim’s ‘Living In the Sunlight’ out of his speaker, and leapt at the nearby pack of searchers with ferocity unmatched. Henry started to back up, trying to figure out how to get to Alice to get Bendipe to safety.

Focused on that task as he was, he failed to notice how the face on Bendipe shifted to one beyond off model. With ink dripping from wide, demented eyes, sneering grin, and an obvious vow of agony, no searcher even thought to come close. Allison and Tom, busy hacking and slashing, still managed to catch a glimpse of the new look, and despaired. They’d hoped the studio couldn’t get worse. Alice tearing pieces of roof off to fling at enemies; Sammy humming a wrathful tune as he buried his fist in a searchers face; Norman playing a cheery song that didn’t match, and yet entirely fit the actions of him and those around him; Henry, not even looking as he curb stomped a searcher into paste; crushed their hopes further still.

====-====-====-====

“See, I’d say we should stick together, but I’m not feeling the whole ‘over-protective brother’ thing Tom has going on. Never liked Boris much either.” Henry, covered from the knee down in fresh ink, picked at a bit of dry ink that had splattered onto his face. Allison, not taking her eyes from Bendipe, let out a weak noise of protest. Tom growled at Bendipe, but it was more for show than anything.

“We—”

“Oh, dear Allison, we’d _never_ _just abandon poor souls in need of help._ Noooo! _We_ have more decency than that.” Alice had a smile on her face, mockery in her tone, and the mirror in her tight grip, though, at the end, her smile fell into an unimpressed snarl. Allison winced, scratching at a scrape on her arm.

“It’s just…”

“Say no more, _Alice Angel._ When given a potential savior, I too would have just abandoned him, allowing some pathetic _mutt_ to manhandle me. As we both know, Alice Angel is just a pretty damsel, so that course of action is the only one that makes sense! I’d _never_ match up to your _untainted_ self. I know I would have stood my ground and done what I wanted, regardless of the whims of some heavy-handed brute.” Her tone was cutting, her words even more so. Allison glared at her weakly through her bangs. Henry stepped between them, heading for the side exit he saw to the left of the room.

Though he didn’t say anything, the fact that Norman and Sammy followed readily said enough. Frankly, Henry didn’t care if they argued while walking, but he wasn’t staying in this location any longer than needed.

====-====-====-====

The group stared at the shoddy plank bridge across the black chasm.

“Oh _hell no._ Someone help me drag that barge over here, we’re testing its flight abilities.”

“Henry…no.”

There was much arguing.

====-====-====-====

“Riddle me this Bendipe, send the old man across the boards made of unicorn spit and sawdust, because who _else_ might we send over!”

No one would ever know if it was sheer coincidence that the board under Henry’s feet gave out at that exact second. What they did know, was the timing was too funny, and later on, when sure of Henry’s safety, they’d laugh heartily. Now though, Norman threw himself onto the first board, tall frame crashing onto the wood, hands outstretched for any part of Henry he could grab. His fingers brushed the stained shirt, and closed on Bendipe’s frame despite not having been near the cutout. The two Angel’s screamed Henry’s name, Alice immediately bolting back out of the hallway to find a new route to get down where Henry fell.

Allison followed, Tom at her heels. Sammy hauled Norman back up, pulling him and Bendipe away from the pit.

Bendipe wasn’t smiling anymore.

====-====-====-====

“Called it.” Henry griped, wringing out his pants, bones aching with every sharp movement. He was glad he’d managed to hand over Bendipe, considering the pool of ink he’d landed in. He didn’t think the devil darling would have taken well to an ink bath. Rising to his feet, resigning himself to wet pants for the rest of his time in the studio, he started off into the better lit room. Offices, cutouts, all leading him eventually to the door to the Film Vault.

He got the distinct feeling Joey was laughing at him.

Not willing to let a lack of Bendipe and dry clothing ruin his drive, he began listing the various things he was going to do to Joey, depending on items at hand at the time. He also broke down the doors to a few of the offices and moved the furniture in them five inches to the left. Rather, he moved everything not bolted down five inches to the left. Then he continued on to discover the vault itself was blocked by a flood. Let whoever came through next run into every piece of furniture, he thought, glaring at a chair.

“Do you…is this the one thing you know how to do?” Henry asked the studio. The studio remained silent. “Is this really it? Just…you block a path because that union worker wet dream was built by a team of drunk toddlers using instructions written in Swahili can’t figure out how to _not_ break? I drew grand things here… I expected better, I expected great creativity. Maybe pathways that rely on my memory of the old cartoons to properly navigate. Perhaps puzzles with references to the great animations that led us to have the funds to buy you, you termite infested trash heap. But no! the bare minimum of creativity, the bare minimum effort. I..” Henry took a chair from one of the rooms, and bust the window.

As a wave of ink poured from the hole, he realized the chair wouldn’t be enough to open the door, and, in fact, opening the door in its state would be a bad move. That, and he heard the sound of a shutter being lifted. He didn’t hold much hope that his words had talked the studio into not repeating the same tasks over and over. He squinted at the wall with missing pipes, deep frown lacking in everything but annoyance. He acquiesced though, and left to see what the newly opened area offered.

====-====-====-====

The sight of the butcher gang had him going from annoyed, to vindictive. He cleared his throat loudly, the lanky one turned to see him, and made its first mistake.

It tried to run.

The second mistake it made, was taking a swing at Henry.

The others lurking in the area cleared out the exact second the screeching started.

====-====-====-====

“Okay, now I think we put the ink into this weird opening here… yeah this one.” Henry muttered, watching the shivering ink creature drop the glob of ink into the strange machine with pipe symbols on one side. He gave the thing a polite thanks, apologized for rearranging a few of the ink creatures’ limbs, and then remembered he needed two more pieces of pipe, and gave the little fella a bashful smile.

The weapon formerly belonging to the ink being still in Henry’s grip marred the image.

====-====-====-====

Henry stared up at the sign denoting the office before him as Joey Drews. He wordlessly waved the butcher gang member away, keeping his eyes on the sign. Thoughts raced through his brain too fast for his mind to keep up with. Questions rang louder, and far more clearly.

He wanted to know why Joey broke cardinal rules given to him. He wanted to know why Joey thought to shove an amusement park in the ass crack of Earth. He _really_ wanted to know how Joey talked construction workers into building so much stupidity. Frankly he wouldn’t have been surprised if Joey had gotten them all shit faced, had them all play darts, then build whichever asinine thing got the most hits.

He’d get his answers one way or another, even if it meant punting Saint Peter off his holy cloud and mooning the big guy behind the pearly gates. With that, he stepped into the office, and let everything truly sink in. It was silent for an unknown amount of time as Henry soaked up the message left by the owner of the studio. Then.

“Did that ostentatious ham-guzzling bitch of life move the main sign from outside into his fucking office?!”

====-====-====-====

The Film Vault sat wrecked, torn open, and it didn’t surprise Henry one bit. He dug through a couple boxes, wondering what he could possibly need, or what had prompted someone to rip the tin door off its frame.

“Henry!” Came various voices. Henry responded by turning and throwing the thing in his hands as hard as he could. The film reel breezed past Tom’s face, shattering against the back wall. The group paused, taking in the sheepish blush growing on Henry’s face, and the ruined reel.

“Well, that’s the end of _that_ cartoon.” Norman joked. Henry, in the middle of retrieving his dear devil darling, let out a string of curses, followed by a string of excited cheers. He pulled Norman into a bear hug, thanked the man profusely, took Bendipe into his hands, and started for the path leading further still into the vault. Only to pause again.

“Wait up… how did you all get down here?” At the question, Allison held up a rope.

“It pays to carry a rope around it seems. You should it some time.” She teased. He opened his mouth to respond, closed it, opened it again, decided it wasn’t worth it, nodded instead, and started walking.

“Hold on Henry, that’s the way to the Ink Demon’s lair!”

“He has a lair?”

“Yes! It’s suicide to go there!” Henry ignored her, and the rest followed. They recognized an animator on a mission, and weren’t willing to miss the action. “Besides, you’ll have to get through _that_ door.” She gestured to the heavy door standing between them and the lair.

Henry stared at it for a moment, then he eyed Norman and Tom.

The door lasted all of four seconds.

If there was any surprise at Tom’s sudden eagerness to help, they didn’t bother to try and figure it out.

====-====-====-====

“Was there a sale on projectors? How many of these damn things did he buy?!” Henry tried to figure out what was on the reels, trying to figure out if the thing had been in use when everything went to hell or if it was just running because Joey loved wracking up electricity bills. Norman gave off a burst of static that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

====-=====-=====-====

“Quiet! Don’t let him hear us!” Allison hissed as the walls twisted under inky shadows. Alice, feeling bold for reasons she couldn’t quite tell, sent a glance at Henry, ducked down, and started carefully inching her way to the glass. Hidden in the shadows, her hair falling across her face to hide her skin, she waited as the ink demon limped his way. The rest joined her, despite it being obvious that Allison and Tom had no idea what they were doing.

Then Alice flew up, banging her hands on the glass exactly as she’d done to Henry earlier.

No one could recall how the demon went from limping across the floor to pinned to the wall, bow fluffed out, inky shadows writhing, but he managed it. Henry popped up next, pressing his face to the other glass panel, breathing heavily on it. Then came Bendipe, though, it was a tad hard to get him to peek due to the bottom panel on the window protruding. Norman’s projector light clanked against the glass beside him. He must have swiped a reel from the Film Vault, because displayed on the wall was a short skit of Bendy running from skeletons. Sammy was next, but all he did was smack his mask against the glass and make obnoxious noises.

Allison and Tom stared at them like they were all drunkards wearing traffic cones, carrying a stop light, and wandering down a street, miles from any location the stop light could have come from. Deep in their minds, they wondered what the Ink Demon was thinking.

====-====-====-====

Bendy, desperate to avoid another confrontation so soon after seeing what he had, staunchly limped forward as quickly as he could, smile pulled tight over his face. He was never more glad to know the ink running down his face hid the cartoon sweat beading on his brow when the cutout winked at him.

‘ _I miss the random hobos that used to wander in.’_ He thought, despairing as Henry’s forehead started making squeaking noises against the glass.

====-====-====-====

The moment they stepped into the massive room, the lights kicked on, and Henry’s face contorted so impressively into a multitude of expressions that those made of ink winced.

“Oh sweet _shit it multiplied!”_ Henry waved his free arm wildly at the hulking machine hovering above the lake of ink. “And, _and_ it’s _just as much a piece of shit!_ ” He pointedly stared at the lake under the dripping nozzle. “ _Joey you mother—”_ He sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and went silent for a full minute.

For the briefest of seconds, everyone else thought he was calming himself down.

Then he broke off into the most vile rant about the machine, Joey, the workers who let the machine come into existence, the workers that then crafted the smaller one on the upper floors, Joey again, the engineers that supplied the instructions for the construction workers, the people who delivered the parts, the people that delivered the people to the job site, and finally, Joey.

By the end of it, everyone with a mouth was staring slack-jawed at the man. Norman just sniffled, one hand over his heart, nodding, sheer appreciation for the beauty bestowed upon whatever made for his ears pouring from his lanky frame.

Bendipe stared at a wall.

====-====-====-====

“There’s no way across, and I don’t see any materials to build a raft. We can’t just wade across either…”

“Are you actually serious?”

“Excuse me?”

“No, you aren’t excused. What? I thought you were more perfected than I am! Are you telling me these two blob monsters can do what prim and perfect can’t?”

“Alice! Be nice! It’s not her fault there’s nothing to tie the rope to!”

“Oh of _course_ , the ever-useful rope finally meets its’ match. Hell forbid you just go one room back and build a damn boat.” Alice spoke while climbing up onto Sammy’s shoulders. He didn’t even slouch under the added, awkward weight, just stared at them. In the lighting, it almost looked like the mask on his head was laughing at them judgmentally.

Norman hadn’t even bothered to wait, just plowed on into the ink.

“There goes Norman…” Henry remarked as he shifted his hold on Bendipe, “Taking the _plunge_.”

The burst of snorting laughter the Projectionist let out was worth the pure confusion on those who didn’t know why it was so funny. Henry, spirits—and Bendipe—high, was next, carefully making his way through, listening as Sammy joined them in their journey across.

Allison and Tom watched them leave, Allison’s lips pursed so tightly that her lipstick couldn’t hide the white skin around the edges. Tom glared at Alice, who sent back a coy grin.

“Just remember guys, whatever happens, find a rope, ropes are the most powerful item in this place.”

“She only remembered she had it after we ran around like morons for five minutes.”

“But can the rope disappoint you by breaking after hitting something only once?”

“It held Sammy up, didn’t it?”

“Is that a sneeze I feel coming on? I hope I don’t suddenly drop you.”

“ _Don’t you dare you noseless heretic.”_

“Henry!” Allison called out, making the group pause and turn to face her. “Remember, you’re here for a reason. You survived longer than any others.”

“Allison… I know. I got a letter from the ass clown what did all of this. He literally asked me to come here. Did you want to see it? I think I— wait a second. You asked why I was here a few days ago! Wh—”

“Oh please just set everyone here free!” She snapped, interrupting him. He arched a brow, nodded, and followed Norman up the stairs. Alice shot the two across the way one last filthy glare, and was the last to vanish into the shadows. Faintly, just barely heard over the drips and creaks, they heard Henry speak again.

“Hey, did you all notice they didn’t give us a single weapon?”

“Did _you_ notice how none of us are surprised about that?”

“Oh! So you aren’t! Norman, tear a pipe off…yeah that one, thanks!”

Allison quietly grabbed Tom’s hand, and questioned her life choices.

====-====-====-====

“Oh wow, it’s a bunch of ink creatures!”

“It’s Boris!”

“Not a single other Alice, good to know Joey didn’t bother trying after the second attempt.”

“No Bendy either. Or Projectionist. Sorry Sammy.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get back at them for trying to mimic me later.”

====-====-====-====

Henry knelt on the floor, knees pressing into his chest, forehead pressed into the ground, chest heaving with hysterical laughter. Bendipe stood beside him, staring at the throne revealed after Alice pulled the lever to open the door. Henry had been down for four minutes and counting. Norman wasn’t any better, staticky laughter crackling through his abused speaker. Sammy leaned against the wall at least, adding fuel to their laughter.

“I _knew_ there was a reason he wanted me to call him lord! I knew it! I fueled his fantasies!”

“He’s got so many shorts, so many skits playing, and yet not once did he get the single Bendy he tried to imiate right.” Alice bemoaned, grandly gesturing at all the screens. Henry wheezed. She spotted the tape player first, and pressed play, interested in just what it had to say. Her lips curled in disgust the second Joey’s voice came out of it, but as he spoke, she took note of something else. She wasn’t the only one though.

“Wait… The… He put…the way to defeat the ink demon, on the ink demon’s throne, and the ink demon, presumably, played it…and then just…left it for any random intruder to find.” Sammy sounded four seconds from falling into another fit of laughter, even more mocking than the last fit. Alice _did_ fall into gut wrenching laughter, nearly toppling over from how hard her chest heaved.  

“He…” Henry choked on his spit, coughing a couple times, “Almost every one of those shorts has a ‘the end’ frame!” Then he fell back into laughter so intense tears dripped down his bright red face. Norman broke from laughter into unholy cackles, made all the more intimidating by the way it was distorted.

Bendy tapped the throne with his fingers, resting his head on his other hand as the group ignored him entirely. Bendipe stared at him, grin stretched wide across his cardboard face.

====-====-====-====

It took another five minutes for the group to settle down enough to see the ink demon watching them from behind the throne. Bendy, or rather, from the cry Henry let out, Bumdy, wasted no time in growing into a hulking beast.

As he towered over them, heavy claws scratching the floor, legs dangling uselessly in the air, the group stared silently at him. Alice looked like she was trying for ‘brave and ready to throw down’ but only reaching ‘terrified, but not bailing’. Norman looked to be looking for the first place he was going to drive his fist into. Sammy’s eyes glowed behind the mask, cardboard grinning where no mouth could.

Henry just threw the pipe in his hands at Bumdy, watching it bonk off his head rather uselessly.

“Fella’s, I dare say we’ll have to get creative here.” He spoke, voice light.

Bumdy felt the studio shudder, and knew whatever battle was about to take place, he wasn’t going to come out on top.

As if reading his thoughts, the cutout beside Henry nodded, shit eating grin on full display.

====-====-====-====

To an outsider, it would look like Bumdy was charging around randomly, and they’d be seeing things correctly.

Then again, anyone would run from a group of lunatics led by a person with imagination, the know how to bring his imagination to life, and a wrench found on the floor. How Henry cobbled together a rifle, he’d never know. Really, it was Alice who gave the weapon to him. The boys weren’t the only ones capable of manipulating ink after all. Though, as she watched him lay another magazine into Bumdy’s ass, she wondered if she’d given him the right weapon.

“You found those levers yet?” Henry called out, lighting up the bastardization of his creation as the thing skid by. Alice responded by hauling down the last switch, giving him a proud, if frazzled smile. She wasn’t used to running around so much. Upon spotting a sealed off hall, the others not antagonizing the demon went about finding the switches to unlock the path ahead. Norman was using his light to blind Bumdy any chance he got, playing far too chipper tunes for the current situation. Sammy was helping Alice, and attempting to mess with where the portals Bumdy opened up. He didn’t know how successful he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to be too disappointed. Not when he realized Henry was specifically targeting Bumdy’s lower half to make the demon run faster.

“Shouldn’t have forgotten the legs, buddy!” Henry called out as the group started for the newly opened hallway. Bendipe was tucked under Alice’s arm, and if she was unnerved by the far too amused gleam in the eyes of the cutout, she didn’t show it.

The next room featured giant pipes, a heavy door slamming down to lock him and the rest in the room, and Bumdy, who seemed to realize that it wasn’t exactly _them_ trapped with _him._

Especially not when Henry spotted the words on the wall.

“Well Burmby, who’s laughing now indeed?” He said, finger tapping the trigger.

Burmby tried to flee through a portal, Sammy kicked up the ink flow in the room, Bendipe’s eyes glowed, the portal spat Burmdy out into the room once more. Through the minds of the ink creatures, a voice long silent spoke up.

‘ _I am.’_

====-====-====-====

It was Burmby that played the reel. And it was by sheer luck that he managed to haul ass fast enough, escape the room of hell, and get back to his throne. Norman tackled him to the floor with Sammy’s help a moment later, but it was too late.

The world around Henry grew white.

The last thing he heard before everything fell into a white void was Alice cheering about finding a kidney. He felt a tear of pride slide down his cheek.

====-====-====-====

For a moment, Henry feared he’d found his way into a stranger’s home again. He wasn’t up to playing the dementia-ridden old geezer routine after what he’d just gone through. There was chipper whistling, but it wasn’t what caught his attention, or held it. It was the posters, and the desk. He stared at the sketches, took in the old posters, decrepit versions of the ones in the studio. His heart began to pick up speed as he realized exactly where he was.

His feet carried his numb body to the kitchen where he found the person he’d been looking for since stepping into the studio. Several things buzzed in his brain, but the most important had him reaching into his pocket, tearing out the ink stained letter, and quietly placing it on the counter, sugar sweet smile on his face.

Joey turned, mouth open to continue his greeting, then he spotted the letter, read murder in Henry’s eyes, and debated how fast he could reach the phone. When the chair Henry had grabbed creaked, and then cracked under the pressure of Henry’s hold, he knew he’d never make it.

“O-okay Henry, you have questions, right? You always do!” The ‘friendly, nostalgic’ laugh was strained and weak. Henry’s smile grew in strength. The chair broke. “The most important question is,” Joey stuttered, clutching the plate to his chest tightly. “Is who are we?”

“Pissed off war veteran,” Henry gestured to himself, “dead motherfucker.” He waved to Joey with his other hand, the one holding the back of the chair.

“Henry, please let me explain.” Joey held his hands out palms up as a gesture for peace. Henry, _still_ smiling, nodded.

“I always thought I knew who I was, but…the success starved me. Nothing left but lines on a page.” Joey paused to lick his dry lips, Henry didn’t move. “In the end, we followed two different paths of our own making. You, a lovely family, me… a crooked empire.”

“Joey, the crooked man on a crooked hill, has a crooked empire. You have a bunch of corpses and a utility bill so massive it has it’s own area code. You have picked the _exact_ wrong question to try answering—”

“I let our creations become my life!” Joey shouted over Henry’s next words. Henry’s mouth snapped shut, and after a moment of silence, nodded for Joey to continue. Joey almost cried at the way Henry relaxed for the first time since entering the kitchen.

“The truth is, you were always _so_ good at pushing, old friend… Pushing me to do the right thing.” Henry’s lips twitched, fighting back a fond smile. “You should have pushed harder.” Joey knew, right after the last syllable left his mouth, that he’d said the wrong thing. Henry’s eyes flew wide open, his mouth broke into a wide, closed smile, and Joey saw Death rise from the shadow Henry cast.

“Oh I’ll push harder Joey. I’m about to push you so far into the afterlife you’ll be able to smell every fart God Almighty squeaks out.”

It would be a little later when Henry wondered how no neighbors had called the cops, but that question would be answered, when the world again went white right as he was reaching for a spoon.

“Come visit the old workshop.” Henry heard Joey say, which was odd considering Joey was lacking the teeth to enunciate that well. “There’s something I have to show you.” Henry’s eyes widened, he blinked, and suddenly, he was back in the studio.

He looked down, digging his foot into a squeaky floorboard. Silently, he walked down the hall. As the realization that it wasn’t a fever dream brought on by trying to stuff yet another utensil into Joey’s mouth, Henry…smiled.

The studio cried.

“ _Round two.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending was so disappointing, I flat out thought they were joking. The game has to be one of the best examples of why game creators need Narrative directors/someone that knows how to tell and keep a consistent story. It has so many flaws, so many mistakes, so many plot holes... The ONLY reason I even started writing these is because the fan made content made me love the characters enough to put effort into this.  
> I can safely say I won't be looking into any more things by that team. Not with how poorly they handled Bendy. Good artwork and music does not make up for the ungodly amount of mistakes and blatant copies of scenes from games like Alice Madness Returns.
> 
> On that note, I had a grand old time writing this, and I hope those who like this AU enjoyed this hop skip trip.


	13. Player Two (Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings.  
> You know that trope about "player two has joined the game!" How that normally means the enemy is about to learn what their own shoes taste like?

As it turned out, fighting something no less than ten times one’s size wasn’t easy. Cuphead figured this was the case, in fact, he’d believed it would be nothing else _but_ difficult. Mugman had begged for Cuphead to let him help, Cuphead had refused. He _knew_ it would be hard. He _knew_ his brother was far more likely to get hurt if he helped. Perhaps it was the older brother in him, but Cuphead wasn’t keen on seeing his only little brother get crushed by any of the debtors.

He’d resolved to fighting as much as he could on his own, claiming Mugman would be better suited for fixing Cuphead’s scrapes than getting some of his own. Mugman had frowned, but ultimately had given in. Wordlessly taking glue and bandages from their home, he’d gestured for the red brother to lead the way. Thus far, the system had worked.

While Cuphead was getting knocked around—dishing out equal amounts of pain, he’d say if anyone teased him—Mugman stood off to the side, generally ignored. The debtors were plenty content to treat the blue brother like part of the scenery. It was widely known that out of the two of them, though Mugman would pull a prank here or there, Cuphead normally lead the mischievous charge. As such, it was habit more than anything that allowed the younger brother to simply stand to the side while Cuphead painstakingly worked his way through debtors.

The most recent battle between him and Hilda Berg had left him holding his broken off arm in place while he waited for the glue to set. It had taken him two planes and several near misses to beat the woman, but, as he told his brother, that just made the victory all the more sweet. Mugman had given him a cool stare back, not responding verbally, only regarding him and his countless chips and cracks. Normally, the frosty look would have had Cuphead worried he’d angered his sibling, but that look wasn’t the usual ‘you’ve stepped out of line and I’m not amused anymore’. It was something he couldn’t really describe, and much as he wanted to ask, they were on a time limit.

At first, he thought it was because he’d basically sold his brother to the furball in hell. Mugman had told him that wasn’t the case.

“I went in too, you just got carried away more than I did.” He’d told Cuphead, voice neutral. Cuphead had taken the reply gratefully, the heavy weight of guilt, of fear that his brother now hated him, vanishing. It had made fighting far easier, he found himself leaping higher, dodging faster, returning fire with far more accuracy without the weight. Mugman continued to watch, sometimes running to the store, dipping into his own pocket money to buy more supplies.

Though, after the most recent battle, Cuphead had seen something else. As he’d run back up to his brother, the cool expression had _warped_ when looking at Hilda Berg. There was something _calculating_ in his gaze that had vanished a split second after Cuphead had noticed it. The saccharine smile that followed just sent a shiver down the red brother’s spine. But, Cuphead figured he too would be pretty upset if Mugman was in his position and he in Mugman’s.

So he’d brushed it off as Mugman simply trying to figure out how else to help. He’d been fine with that; any help was good help. Hell, he was pretty sure Porkrind had started slipping a little extra in the things he’d given Mugman as time went on. He’d have to find a way to thank Porkrind later, when he wasn’t being treated like a baseball bat by a _very_ volatile plant.

This was the third time he’d tried going after Cagney. The first time he’d been sent over the fence by a casual toss. The second, he’d been thrown at the river across the way. This time, Cagney seemed fed up with the tenacious teacup and was trying to throw Cuphead into a tree. Cuphead had been lucky enough to escape the vines and hands the first few times. This time however, Cagney, minus one eye, numerous sharp teeth, and any patience, wasn’t letting up as he had the last times.

 Right before Cuphead’s face met the tree, the hand had stopped almost unnaturally. He blinked, confusion turning his already sluggish movements into weak facsimiles of motion. He turned his head barely able to see with one cracked eye, the other broken clean off. But it was enough, plenty enough to see his tiny little brother standing beside Cagney, inches from his base. Cagney was looking at the other with unmitigated _terror_.

Cuphead, due to his position, couldn’t figure out why that would be. Not until he caught sight of the black oil stain on the stem. His brother casually let the oilcan drop to the dirt, splashing into a puddle of oil seeping into the soil.

“Mr. Cagney?” Mugman’s voice was sweet, far too sweet. The hand trapping Cuphead shuddered. “Would you happen to know how flammable carnations are?” The too sweet smile, the sugary note in his tone, the loose pose, all of it didn’t match the calculative _viciousness_ lurking in the younger brother’s icy blue stare. Cagney made a noise, somewhere between dying mouse and lonely frog. Cuphead would have laughed if he wasn’t as stunned as Cagney.

Mugman arched a single brow at the arm holding Cuphead, silently pulling out a matchbox from his pocket. As the match was twirled in Mugman’s deceptively relaxed grip, Cuphead felt the fingers around him slacken until he slipped out. He hit the ground hard, chipping the arm he landed on so badly, it was only thanks to his shirt that the arm didn’t just fall off. Hard enough to disorient the red brother.

Mugman hummed.

The match snapped to life, little flame crackling merrily.

Cuphead, trying to sit up without losing his arm, missed the terrifyingly _sharp_ grin that split Mugman’s face.

Cagney didn’t.

By the time Cuphead had regained his bearings, Mugman was helping him up and out of the garden. He was staring at the broken arm with unmasked worry and sympathy, whispering promises that a quick dab of glue and Cuphead would be good as new. Mugman passed the newly acquired contract over to his brother, saying nothing about how it had fallen into his possession. Cuphead—head ringing, legs shaking, body aching— didn’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find that trope hilarious. It's probably gonna pop back up here. I've never been fond of spineless Mugman. I just don't get where people get that idea. Have you seen his face in the game during battle? That ain't a simpering, tear filled frown on his face that's for sure. 
> 
> Writers block is a pain...


	14. After All (Cuphead Mage AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints of Snake eyes. Reading my other story, "When a Mage Decides to Adopt" slightly recommended. You might be a tad confused other wise.  
>  Short of it is they're "human" here, at least in appearance...sort of.   
> What happens after a debtor kicks the bucket?

Cagney was going to haunt _the shit out of the root pack._ That is, in another life, since his was at its end. He blamed them and their rowdiness. Then again, he could also blame Hilda Berg for egging them on. Or even Goopy for challenging the boxer brothers _in his garden of all places_. There were several people he could blame, the ones not pushing up daises like he now was that is.

He missed Rumor.

He shrugged about as much as a torched half man half plant could. He’d likely be seeing her and the other stiffs now. Though, he hoped the heat would die down soon, he hadn’t thought heaven would be so tropical in temperature. But if he was going to haunt the rotting roots he’d have to go back down, so he wondered if he’d even have to worry about being too hot.

“It helps if ya open your eyes, _bud._ ” Now _that_ wasn’t a voice he’d thought he’d _ever_ hear again. Cagney’s eyes snapped open, going wide as his vision focused itself enough for him to lock eyes with gleaming yellow ones. He tried to slide away, but his limbs were still crispy, and only left blackened smears on the dirt below.

The Devil reared his head back, cackling madly. He leaned back on his pitchfork, letting it support his weight. Cagney tried finding his voice, confusion warring with horror locking any questions he had away. Finally, after a humiliating three minutes of Devil laughing at him every time the beast got another eyeful of Cagney’s expression, the ruler of Hell settled down. At least, enough to answer what he felt like.

“What? You thought someone who bet their souls was going up? The only wings you’ll ever see are the ones we serve patrons. That’s _if_ Bon Bon lets you in her kitchen though.” Devil shrugged. Cagney slumped, tall figure drooping with sudden exhaustion. “But first, might have to take you up top. Maybe the fear or you ruining the carpet will get King to heal you? Or we can steal the kid from the kitchens. Well, he might actually be at the dealer tables.” An imp shoved at Cagney’s back, making the man stumble forward as Devil began strolling towards a staircase leading up to a rather ornate door.

Cagney’s legs felt like sprouts just popping out of the ground, weak, barely able to support himself much less move. The imp wasn’t giving him much of a choice however, so he staggered behind Devil wordlessly.

====-====-====-====

The casino, even after all those years, was still going strong. People still came eagerly to test their luck in the most infamous casino in the world. Some said it was because somehow, despite the changing tides of interest, despite the countless additions to the gambling scene, the casino always managed to have the best of it. Many would point at the manager as the sole reason the place even had half the customer base it did. Others would scoff and claim it was simply because there was no greater rush than gambling in the heart of sin itself.

It was still a luxurious building, the track had only gained additions to include cars, bikes, and anything else people would place bets on for a race. It had gained a hotel as well, more of a resort really. A building of equal grandeur with rooms dressed to the nines overlooking whatever view the occupants wanted to see. Having a mage with magic for days made countless things fall from the level of impossible to ‘when do you want it?’.

Needless to say, the sight that greeted Cagney when the door opened—while not surprising—was still enough to make his jaw drop. Devil snorted again, clearly preening, though whether it was because he was proud of the building or because of the reaction it pulled, Cagney didn’t care to figure out.

He made sure to drag his feet, leaving charcoal marks on the somehow pristine floor. Petty, but he figured he was already in as deep as he could go. The noise difference from one area to the next was jarring. Hell, at least that’s where he assumed he’d been, was quiet, with only the soft crackling of hellfire as any sort of noise. But the casino just about _blazed_ with countless sounds he couldn’t even begin to place.

There was the screams of either joy or dismay, standard really, but then there was everything else. The bells from winning machines, the smooth music from the overhead speakers, the chatter of hundreds. The only thing he didn’t hear was the track, which, confused him, but he didn’t think he’d be able to ask the man leading him through the building without taking a serious blow to his pride.

“I thought the contracts were burned.” He grumbled, voice scratchy and thick. Devil’s head twisted around on his neck so the beast was facing him without turning his body. Cagney shuddered.

“Of course they were, but like I said, you had _far more baggage on you than that piece of paper._ ” Then Devil shrugged, turned his head back around, and waved someone over. It was a man with flaming hair, Cagney supposed it was a worker, based on the way people all but threw themselves out of his way.

“Y’need somethin’ boss?” His voice was deep, scratchy, and full of arrogance.

“Go see about fishing the kid out of the kitchen, got another for him. I’ve got to see about getting King if the kid ain’t available.”

“Another? Damn, you’d think they’d be clamorin to keep alive! What? You play patty cake with a bonfire?” The tan skinned man crossed thick arms. Cagney sneered.

“Says the guy who looks like he took a flaming brick to the face.” The amalgamation snapped, even if it hurt his throat to do so. The leather coat audibly creaked under the pressure of the mans muscles flexing under the sleeves.

“Real funny, _petals_.”

“Glad to show you what _real_ comedy is, _smokey_.”

“I hear a fight brewing!” That too, was another voice Cagney hadn’t heard in a _long_ time. He turned, searching for the face buried deep in his memories. Sure enough, the kid who’d challenged him to a fight and nearly gotten crushed by the gardener. Though, Cagney thought the kid had had white hair, not the ash grey currently sitting atop his head. There was a darker gleam in his eyes as well, something sadistic, sitting idly by with high hopes for an excuse to step out to bat.  Cagney cringed back, he didn’t like the new appearance the kid was sporting.

“Not in the middle of the floor it isn’t” Devil replied, though, he didn’t look raring to stop any fight that _did_ break out.

“Boss? Imp’s said you—oh. Well that’s quite the timing Mr. Carnation.” The manager of the Casino, the one who everyone on Inkwell recognized simply because he was the only lackey of Devil’s to ever leave the Casino. Cagney kept his aching limbs by his side tightly, not keen on getting anywhere near the right hand man of the Devil. King Dice, entirely uncaring of the other’s reaction, simply continued on.

“We’ve been needing a gardener for a while now, I think my apprentice will just set the next fern that dies on fire.”

“King!” Devil’s manner of saying his manager’s name was low, rumbling deeply with slick pleasure. “You feelin’ nice for once? This poor sinner’s got a bit of a situation… if ya couldn’t tell.” Devil’s tail wound around King Dice’s waist, the tip gesturing to the marks left on the floor. King Dice’s face pinched in clear disgruntlement, lips curling up to expose pearly white teeth. Cagney wondered if the ensuing beat down would be worth trying to get bits of char onto the man’s pristine suit. The ache in his body decided for him, he was still in far too much pain to really want to do anything but lay down and stare into the void.

King Dice hummed, putting an almost theatrical twist to the internal debate he was having. Cagney almost snapped at the manager too, pain only fueling his temper, the confusion still lingering not doing much to help. But then the kid perked up, looking at something behind Cagney. King Dice too, stopped with the act. Cagney turned, wincing as his burnt flesh pulled to breaking point, letting a fresh wave of blood stain his scorched pants.

No one had ever seen a man Cagney’s height, in Cagney’s condition, clear so much air in one jump before. One second he was standing right in front of them, the next, he was crouched precariously on a rook pillar. Blackened hands scrabbling to keep purchase on the smooth surface as blood and sap poured from torn flesh. From below, the group—and a few nearby patrons who hadn’t yet learned about plausible deniability—stared.

The other kid, the one who had taken Deaths own femur to use as a cudgel, who had viciously made the personification weep in his garden for ten entire minutes simply for daring to come near his broken brother. Who was now staring up at him with the others, bluish white brow arched. Cagney wasn’t fooled, he saw the amusement lurking in those bright blue eyes.

“Hey Mugs!” The kid in the red shirt called out, deciding he was worth more of his attention than Cagney was. Which Cagney was just fine with. The less chance he had of learning whether someone could die twice the better. Then again, Cagney had no doubt the kid had necromancy somewhere in that magical arsenal of his.

“Mr. Carnation, please stop trying to climb the pillar, the imps don’t like cleaning as it is.” The blue kid requested politely, ignoring his brother’s attempts to get his attention. Cagney just hissed.

“Oh dear, the pillar is stained you say? I suppose that means we’ll have to throw it out!” King Dice remarked, looking far too pleased about tossing out a pillar of all things. Devil huffed.

“Oh dear, the pillar is stained? Looks like I’ll have to break out the cleaning supplies myself.” The lord of Hell, ever ready to crush hopes, no matter how insignificant, gleefully smiled at the dirty glare King Dice shot his way.

“Can someone explain?!” Cagney finally snapped, notably staying on the pillar and as far from the mage as possible. It was another familiar face that Cagney hadn’t seen since the ferris wheel had broken free of its struts and crushed. Bon Bon strode purposefully towards the group, people treating her as they had the smoking man who Cagney only now realized was gone.

“Cagney get down from there before the imps take it out on you!” She called out, heel rapidly tapping in impatience.

“So? Those things look like the fried rats served at the carnival!” He retorted sharply. Bon Bon recoiled as if slapped.

“ _They serve what now?!”_

“Cool! How do they taste?” The red kid, who’d been trying to subtly move closer to his sibling—and Cagney would _love_ to know what made the blue brother so frosty to the other—got his attention more than the horror from Bon Bon did.

“Interesting, probably exactly like a fried imp.” He slipped down the pillar, barely managing to catch himself before he toppled over from the burst of agony. Even so, he kept his unfriendly sneer in place.

“You’ve never tasted fried imp before.” Devil’s teeth shone far too much to be comforting.

“Cagney you’d better be lying. If not about them serving _rat_ of all things then at least tell me you didn’t actually _taste_ it!” Bon Bon pressed a hand to her chest, pink flesh getting a green tinge. Cagney scowled, feeling far less tense now that someone decidedly friendly was present.

“Woman I ate fertilizer, do you really think rat is any worse?”

“I repeat, you’ve never had fried imp before. It’s like eating a restaurants dumpster after the thing has marinated in the sun for a good five days.” Devil easily regained the attention of those around him.

“I’d imagine licking Mr. Devil’s back would be worse tasting.” The blue brother mused, tapping one finger to his nose. Devil responded by sniffing his own armpit.

“Give me a few days and we’ll find out!” He cackled as King Dice groaned in annoyance.

“Oh, I’m going to be sick… Cagney, come with me, I’ll clear things up for you. Come along Mugman, we’ve still got orders to fill.” She turned, skirts swirling dramatically. He followed, keeping her between him and the child.

====-====-====-====

“Welcome to Hell, you’ll be the indentured servant to the man who just sniffed his own armpit on the Casino floor for the rest of eternity.” Bon Bon prodded a steak sizzling away in the pan beside her. Cagney remained at the very edge of the Kitchen, unwilling to step into the spotless realm dominated by the Carnie Baroness. Not until he was cleaned up at least, but he wasn’t sure that would be happening anytime soon, much to his dismay.

“He’ll probably take into account what you did and make you keep up the various greenery we got here. You’ll have to talk to Cala Maria about water supply and such. Not the worst job you could have. I still think that goes to Rumor. She’s stuck with running that resort, dealing with the complaints guests bring up.” Bon Bon elegantly decorated a line of plates while Mugman moved the finished ones onto a tray for one of the skeletal waiters to pick up.

“Uh..” Cagney far less elegantly replied.

“Speaking of… Just what happened to you?”

“Root pack. Fireworks from Hilda. A stray punch from Ribby. I think I was closest to it. What about here? What…” He weakly gestured to the porcelain doll adding edible flowers to a rather lovely cake clearly baked by the woman who paused her work to see just what Cagney was referring to.

“Oh him? My dear nephew is working for Devil as well. Brother of his sold his soul, and Mugman didn’t want to up and leave. I still think you should.” She adjusted a stray petal for the boy before putting the plate on the tray.

“I think I’ve forgiven him at this point… It’s so hard to stay mad when he spends an entire week sobbing at my door for forgiveness.” Mugman hummed, magic glittering around his hands as another order came in. Bon Bon sighed, not denying that.

“I didn’t think he’d keep up with it either? How long have you been holding that grudge?”

“I think it’s been…Mr. Carnation how many years has it been?” Mugman turned to the amalgamation, much to the amalgamation’s dismay.

“Seventy years.” He eyed the distance between them calculatedly.

“That long.” Mugman paused in the middle of letting a pot of mashed potatoes stir itself to take the plant man’s appearance in. A rune flared into existence beneath Cagney’s feet glowing a vivid yellow and green. “Oh goodness, Mr. Carnation I’m sorry! I forgot you’re still…uh… singed?” Cagney would have been terrified to see the mage use magic on him, only, his body was rapidly feeling better by the second, flesh and plant matter healing faster than any potion could do. Cagney visibly wilted, a relieved sigh spilling from his lips.

“So!” Bon Bon clapped. “As said, you work here now! As will everyone else with time. We’ve placed bets on who will be next. Let me be the first to say, welcome to the rest of your eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes after the second possible ending, the one where Cuphead gives up his soul despite Mugman pleading with him not to. I've been wanting to continue that thing in snippets. Hell, I've been tempted to rewrite it recently, if only because It was the first thing I wrote in a hellishly long time.


	15. Bendipe Remix, or, Round Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings, just a brief little stroll into round two. No, not the entire thing.

Henry sucked in a great breath of ink filled air, old bones taking a moment to ponder acting old for once, and deciding that was simply not going to happen. He’d been having such a grand time reorganizing Joey’s bone structure—and adding a few things here or there. He always believed nature simply acted as a stepping stone. Really, Joey would someday thank him for replacing a hand with a can opener. Henry had _simply_ been acting upon his knowledge that his friend had an unhealthy obsession with bacon soup and what better gift than the ability to open a can of FDA nightmares at a moments notice?

For all the poor mechanics and engineers whose very livelihoods were mocked the moment the metal vomit sitting its abominable ass in his former studio, Henry went not for revenge, but for _retribution._

He contemplated just walking right back out, only, he’d had _such fun_ earlier. Not only that, but he could still feel the various utensils he’d swiped during his retribution. Which meant grander things awaited the studio the second time around. Henry strolled in, swiping the Bendy plush from the seat and sticking it in his shirt pocket. It wasn’t quite the same as Plundy, but Plundy was far below in the money sink that was the amusement park.

With a single ride.

And trains just parked in an ink filled room; clearly the next phase in Joey’s plan to belittle every single trade in the world. Henry bet if he brought his architect friend in, the man would have called in a few favors of his own to correct the mistake that was Joey Drew Studios.

Oddly enough, things had shifted. The rooms were larger, there was more in them, more hallways, more places to go. Henry went right for the ink machine, not bothering to glance at the Boris corpse. He idly wondered just how he was going to handle the thing this time, only, even the ink machine was different.

Henry looked out into the pit, jaw hanging somewhere by his knees.

He let out the call of distress all mechanics knew, the one that was one pitch off from ‘a whale in mild discomfort’.

====-====-====-====

Armed with Bendipe once more, because he wasn’t going to survive without his darling demon—not in hell-pit studios that was for sure—Henry once more observed his one true antagonist.

“So, we meet again you scrap yard reject. I see you’ve upgraded, but! What you fail to realize is that so have I.” Henry held up a fork as proof he had indeed leveled up.

Bendipe stared at a wall.

Starting up the engine, because Henry was _well_ aware he wasn’t going anywhere without starting the nightmare before him, he watched as it ascended. Briefly he imagined it as an angel, drunk off its ass after a bender in hell stumbling up to the gates before violently redecorating St. Peter’s shoes. Then he stowed that thought away for when he found Alice and Allison.

“Bendipe, I already know what’s going to go down. But—and I’m hoping you’ll forgive me—I don’t intend on doing things exactly as I did before. I have plans Bendipe, grand ones.” Henry pat Bendipe on the head, as if doubling down on his apology.

Bendipe’s eyes gleamed under the yellowed lights.

Something deep within the studio eagerly awaited his creator’s new antics.

Something else pondered just how hard it would be to lure the man _out of the damn studio_ before the mental scarring became _permanent._

====-====-====-====

Indeed Henry found all of the items to sacrifice.

Indeed, he discovered the items in areas that had him breaking out the angry, violent rants.

“Illusion of living, yeah, oh, Joey’s got that when I get to him the second time. See if he can’t weasel his way out of deaths doors without _legs._ ” Henry hissed, yanking the pressure switch down hard enough for it to creak in protest.

He maneuvered his way back, getting lost twice in the winding halls. Some part of him debated whether it was the studio trying to save itself. Wondered if the studio was hoping he’d get lost enough to revert into a crotchety old man hobbling his way to bingo. Or to yell at children who accidentally sneezed near his yard. Henry hoped that wasn’t what it was trying to do. He dearly hoped the studio had _at least_ a little bit of him or Norman or Sammy or anyone with some semblance of respect for interior design.

He still clapped when the other Bendy cutout tried hiding behind the two by four, cooing at the other one that peeked around a corner at him that wasn’t his Bendipe.

Bendipe stared at the wall.

As soon as he was ready to revisit the machine, memories of the inky bitch of life that was his creation had it been up to a team of drugged up mice to draw popping up as he got closer. He glanced down at Bendipe.

Henry grinned.

 Bendipe, had the cutout had the full ability, would have tilted his head in excited anticipation. Instead, he just grinned back.

====-====-====-====

Boopy expected many things to happen when Henry approached. He expected Henry to be upset, or perhaps angry. He expected Henry to be losing hope as time went on and the studio simply continued toying with him. But it was hard to see when the cutout the creator carried refused to let him see Henry’s face. The best he got were snippets of conversation given to him by the other cutouts.

Needless to say, when the machine started up, he was raring to go.

When he sprang up, moving to reach through the boards put up over the entrance to the machine’s room, he went.

Back.

Two shoes planted right in his face, boards snapping much like his neck, and he was off.

====-====-====-====

Henry hit the ground with a heavy thud. The breathless cackling wasn’t affected in the slightest as he laid on the floor, listening to the wheezing far below. Bendipe stood at the end of the hall, settled to perfectly capture Henry’s quite graceful flying kick.

A searcher on level nine gave it a ten out of ten for form.

Boopy wheezed.

====-====-=====-====

Even without the thing to stain Bendipe, Henry wasn’t sure what to do next. Not until the halls began to flood with ink. With a horrified cry, Henry hefted Bendipe higher up and sprinted for the closest exit. Somewhere in him wondered why he was going for the exit when he knew it wasn’t going to work. The rest of him wondered why it wouldn’t.

Then, as the floorboards went out under his feet and he went into freefall, he remembered. For a moment, he feared dementia was settling in finally. Only, he was finding memories of the lower floors suffering the same fate, growing fuzzier by the moment.

“Bendipe, it seems like the studio is tampering with my memories.” Henry remarked as they plummeted. Henry was sure that, had he been less experienced in the antics of the studio, he’d never have assumed the studio could mess with memories. But he was, and he wouldn’t put anything past Joey at this point. He grumpily bet it was because he’d made Boopy taste shoe leather. Bendipe acted as a parachute, not a great one, but good enough to ease the landing from back breaking to bruising. Henry loved his little Bendipe for trying. Truly, it was the effort that counted.

“Bendipe, this studio underestimates me.” Henry grunted through pained breaths as he tried to stay conscious. The landing remained the same, hard on his body, but not enough to break it.

“Bendipe, I…” Despite having a solid body for an old man, Henry wasn’t as spry as his younger self was, so, in spite of his best efforts, he fell into the void of unconsciousness. Bendipe didn’t mind, there was plenty of time for more antics. He’d act as he had the first time around, he’d be a guardian for dear old dad. There was a lone searcher that tried to inch closer. That searcher didn’t even have the chance to regret doing so.

====-====-====-====

The next Henry woke up, he found only muddled memories of what awaited him. He knew people were waiting for him, but he couldn’t quite figure out who they were, or how he’d get to them. Only weak echoes, enough to hint at things ahead, painting an odd picture of cackling and fire—and a banjo. He knew he should know, and that was all he needed for the deep, malicious laughter—sans a smile, as per tradition—to bubble up and out of him as he laid on the ground.

The studio had made several mistakes in its endeavor to reset the stage.

It had taken his knowledge of the inner workings away.

It _had not_ taken his need to make things lighter than they were, to find comedy in bleak situations. It hadn’t taken away his drive to pull stunts that would leave people confused to the point of accepting the oddity simply to avoid losing their sanity. It also, and Henry grinned as he plucked Bendipe up from the floor to continue deeper into the building, neglected to remove his adoration of _shenanigans._

It would come to regret that.

====-====-====-====

The worshipper knew he had many talents, but only one job. His only job took precedence over his many talents. So while he wanted to continue scribbling away on stray pieces of paper to compose more grand hymns to better describe his lord’s grandeur, his job came first. His job, which told him in the form of the dying shrieks of the searchers lurking in his department, he had found a new sheep. A new sheep to sacrifice to his lord, to perhaps appease the almighty one.

 Sure, he couldn’t recall ever hearing a searcher shriek for mercy, nor for the sheep to ‘spare Jimmy, please, it’s his birthday! No! not the cheese grater! Where did you even get that th-OH GOD—’. He admitted it threw him off a tad, but not enough.

He felt excitement course through his body, giddy excitement for the ceremony that had quickly become his favorite. He loved finding the sheep wandering His halls. He adored listening to His pleased rumbles and screeches as the wails for mercy acting as the soprano to His tenor. Using the abilities He had so kindly given him, the worshipper kept an eye on the new sheep. This one carried one of the eyes of his lord, and he wondered the reason for it. He didn’t think to question the mustache painted on the cutout though, he saw no reason to.

He didn’t have the same reach as He did however, which meant the sheep would vanish. The worshipper didn’t mind, no one knew the halls the way he did. He kept finding him, but as he found him, he felt an odd sensation creep through the scratchy echoes of thousands of voices trapped in his mind. He saw the sheep pick up a searcher and use it to beat a merry tune on the snares and found it funny rather than strange. He watched the sheep pick up a banjo, and felt a sudden, desperate need to cover his chest. Finally, the sheep was at the point where he’d leave the worshipper’s domain, something the worshipper couldn’t allow.

He waited at the entrance to the main room, ready to knock the sheep out and begin the ceremony he’d done countless times before. Only, the man never showed up. The worshipper waited for ten minutes before impatience overcame rationality. He turned the corner he’d hidden himself behind, and saw only the cutout with the mustache. Oddly enough, the cutout’s eyes were angled up, as if looking at something above.

Something dripped onto his head, and slowly, _oh so slowly_ , he looked up.

_“Hola.”_

And lo, death did descend upon the worshipper.

====-====-====-====

Bendipe’s eyes twinkled, joy coursing through him and the one deep within the ink. His smile simply continued to grow as Sammy pleaded for his creator to spare his nipples. When the violin made its appearance, he let out an adoring sigh.

====-====-====-====

“Boy I’m glad I remembered you before I went back for the banjo!” Henry gave Sammy a hearty pat on the back as the other wheezed. “This darn studio, I swear, it takes after Joey more than it does me!”

Sammy, memories crawling in faster as the pain receded, just kept sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, i call these things spite fixes. It's when I take something that had great ideas, and tossed them out at some point for whatever reason, leaving me disappointed. Bendipe is the funny spite fix. I had another spite fix for this game. That, however, might not ever see the light of day. Even so! Expect a little more for Bendipe.
> 
> Yes, I did indeed stop at Sammy. I do what the Muse wants. Currently we're at road block with my other stories, so this one is getting all the attention.


	16. Bendipe Breaks It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality that is. You know that little thing you can do in the game? the thing that takes away any sense of fear you could possibly have?

Henry reasoned that, based on his streak of not getting even seriously injured, he could be allowed to have a grievous injury or two without ruining his standings in the studio. Granted, he didn’t think being shoved off a balcony by a desperate searcher hellbent on getting in a swing for Jerry—not that Henry would know the reasoning behind it, if he had, he’d have nodded in respectful approval before returning fire—was going to the reason for his first injury.

But as he laid there, unable to feel anything below his chest, surrounded by a frantic Sammy, an enraged Norman, and a shaking Alice, he found he only had one regret. He regret not being able to catch Bendipe after having tossed his brain child to the side to reduce the potential number of casualties. Henry tried to joke about the current situation, he instead drooled blood. He amended his list of regrets to add ‘drooling like a moron’.

Bendipe stared at a wall, having been brought down by Alice who was moving on instinct more than anything else. Henry tried to console them then, figuring comedy wasn’t going to help at this point. It was Alice’s sudden screaming, her terrified lunge to get further from him, that clued him into the fact that something new was amiss. For the life of him though, trapped being supported on Sammy’s lap as Norman tried to figure out how to pry open a soup can without crushing the thing and splattering everyone with the stuff of intestinal nightmares, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Bendipe stared at a wall.

Henry tried looking down, hoping he’d at least be able to try and tell them what went wrong. His head felt far too heavy and his limbs refused to respond. He was left watching as Sammy’s face—the features that were left—contorted into horror. Sammy tried to pull Henry up and away, but that reminded Henry’s body that it had landed rather harshly two stories down, and moving was a poor thing to do.

Bendipe stared at a wall.

Norman’s screech was the second thing to clue the human in on the fact that there was something amiss. He flung the current attempt of soup retrieval at what Henry assumed was a searcher or one of the butcher gang. Then the ink tendrils, swirling out of the shadows in ways Henry found reminded him of an underwater scene, finally clued him into just what had arrived. Henry tried to tell Sammy to get Bendipe to safety, as he wasn’t sure how vindictive Jondy was. Blood simply rolled down his jaw in thick rivulets as he was forced up.

Norman was sent flying back, one arm missing, half of his projector head shattered. Alice tried throwing things at Jondy. Her attempts only lasted until the inky shadows reached her, then, as they wrapped around her legs, she began to shriek. Sammy stood, trying to angle himself between the writhing Alice and the broken Henry. Henry wished he could have given Sammy the axe he knew he’d been carrying. Though, now that Henry thought about it, that was likely where the blood was coming from, he didn’t recall removing the axe from his belt loop, and a fall like his would have dislodged it. In a way, he was acutely glad he couldn’t feel anything.

Sammy didn’t last long. He tried, but with no Norman to act as support, or Alice to distract, he was easily torn in half by the beast he’d blindly worshipped before Henry kicked down the doors to the studio. Henry began counting the ways he was going to get revenge on Jondy. He figured if he was about to become another soul, he’d do his damndest to be that one asshole that sang the same song repeatedly over and over until it became torture. Alice gave out a final choked cough as she melted into the floor, body becoming unstable once more.

Bendipe stared at him.

 The world went dark right as Jondy loomed over him, face splitting grin curling higher with the creatures increased excitement.

====-====-====-====-====

The next thing Henry saw was not a sea of inky blackness, nor was it fluffy clouds or burning pits of fire. Instead it was what he could only figure was a tunnel that pulsed in an uncomfortably alive manner. He shuddered as he crawled faster towards the light. Right as he reached the end, his mind helpfully suggested it looked like a birth canal.

As such, he burst out of the ink screaming up a storm and vowing to slaughter Joey to such a degree that it would be put as the ultimate form of cruel and unusual punishment. Crime communities would talk about it with undiluted disgust and awe. Needless to say, the first searcher he spotted, he tore apart with such wrath the soul within became the first ever to break from the studio. Not because it suddenly gained the strength to, but because the torment was so grand, it simply flopped out of the studio’s slack grasp to freedom.

By the time the trio found him again, Bendipe was once more staring at a wall, sitting patiently beside the statue Henry had popped up in front of. Henry paused in trying to clean his hands by dragging them along the wall to _really_ make it look like a murder scene to take in the confused stares.

“Henry?” Alice was the first to speak, her face a notable pale green.

“How did you get here without us noticing you were gone?” Sammy continued for her, gesturing to the hall behind him. Henry wondered if the last moments of his life were actually his last moments, or if he’d simply hallucinated it all. He shrugged in response, picking up Bendipe and ushering them on. He stumbled when they told him they were still trying to get the generators running to open the main door.

“We had all of them up!” Henry, none too happy about having to repeat menial tasks. He grumbled throughout the last switches, right until the scenario that got him before began to repeat itself. The same searcher slipped by Sammy’s wild swing, evaded Norman’s wrathful lunge, dodged past Alice’s viciously thrown shoe, and ran face first into Bendipe.

Bendipe, well aware Henry was tucked where he couldn’t see Bendipe’s face, acted accordingly. His face warped, eyes alight with unholy loathing as a being deep within the ink began digging his way towards the searcher’s soul. The wild eyes, the sharp toothed sneer, the hostile pose it took, all acted as a proper deterrent. At least enough to make the searcher pause, plenty enough for Norman to catch up and throw it clear across the room and splat against a wall.

When Henry adjusted his stance so he could see everyone again, Bendipe was back to normal. Henry let out a sigh of relief, glad to not be dead. He still had a score to settle though, and when the familiar inky shadows made their appearance, the chipper smile that made its way onto his face was more than enough to make the others wonder just what Jondy had done that warranted such a terrifying face. They’d wind up pulling him away at Alice’s insistence, her fear of being dragged back into the ink enough for Henry to store his vengeance away for a later time.

====-====-====-====

As it turned out, the most recent run wasn’t a lucky one. Henry bet the studio had finally found the strength to get around his antics—Henry was pleased with this, it meant he could open up _the box._ But that would be when he next met up with Joey. He didn’t think the studio had a stash of garden gnomes and an exorbitant amount of cheese wheels.

But, the most recent one had him once more dying. This time it was thanks to the machine swinging away with the face in the center looking awful smug. Henry hadn’t expected it to break the pattern and slam down when he’d been trying to get out of Sammy’s way. He didn’t even have time to be upset before he was back in the studio’s gross birth canal looking place. He added this very place to his list of reasons for wanting to kill Joey. Friendship was a good motivator, but spite was stronger. If he originally had wanted to make up for past grievances before, he was now looking forward to using the hand mixer on Joey’s eyes.

He began to crawl, remembering he’d heard Bendipe get hit as well. He was going to make the machine eat its own innards, phase one of his revenge plan. Phase two and three required the cheese grater he hoped Alice still had on her. He dearly hoped Norman wouldn’t take offense to what he was going to use the projector he’d spotted in the room for.

The moment he sprang up next to the statue, he was ready. He picked up his dear Bendipe, checked for any cracks or marks on the cutout, and waited for them to catch up. The moment the group appeared he was explaining his plot for retribution. The group listened, ignoring the sage nodding Bendipe did along with his creator, and though they doubted Henry’s claim of a sentient park ride, the doubt died faster than Bertrum’s belief in a kind god.

====-====-====-====

“Son of a bitch not again.” Henry groaned as his blood poured from the gaping hole in his side. Norman lay broken beside him as Sammy tried to beat down Jondy, failing miserably, exactly as he had before. Henry forced his eyes to remain locked on Jondy, long enough for the thing to look him in the eye and see death in all its horrifying glory.

====-====-====-====

“Fellas. I can’t die. We’re going to find a train in that room surrounded by a dumbass pool of ink, Joopy is going to crawl his skeletal ass through that door, and he’s going to learn a thing when he tries tearing Norman’s head off…again.” Henry stated boldly as he sat up from the floor, Bendipe looking on as his father ranted to the stunned group.

“Can’t die?” Alice scratched her head.

“That uh… you have experience in that? We didn’t think death wanted anything to do with you.” Sammy spoke, hauling Henry up with ease. Henry nodded, leading them to said train room and pointing at it with one sharp gesture. He found a spot to keep Bendipe safe, ran down to the trains, and got to work.

“Norman, you can’t let him get his hands on you, not unless you can break em, so Alice? Get on the miracle station and get ready to throw whatever you’ve got. Sammy, descend on him like I did you.”

“But you never told me how you did that.”

“…If we die again, I’ll make sure I do that the next time around. Or if we survive this.” Henry eventually crawled out of the train’s engine right as Joopy indeed made his appearance. Norman let out the customary screech, but this time, he went for Joopy’s legs instead of his torso. Sammy meanwhile, leapt at one arm, intent on gnawing it off if he had to. Alice tore a board from the wall and wailed on Joopy’s head any time he got within her range. Stumbling down the stairs to get more room to fight, Joopy came face to face with a rather peppy Henry.

The train roared to life, and slammed into Joopy, bashing him through the wall with a shriek of metal long used to inactivity.

“I’ve _trained_ him well.” Henry mimed wiping a tear from his cheek as the train continued to try and burrow deeper into the studio with Joopy as an unwilling passenger.

====-====-====-====

“So…You really can’t die?”

“Nope. Wanna see?”

“NO!”

“Shit, too la—”

“God dammit Henry I swear….”

====-====-====-====

Henry couldn’t find it in himself to regret getting shivved by a very surprised Allison. Not when it meant Alice was safe. Though she had been the one to kill Boris earlier via elevator crash, she’d grown on him. Mostly because she claimed she’d sooner die than stay near a creation of the worst scum in the studio. Henry cooed at that, finding her insult towards Joey weak but well meant. So as he collapsed—while Norman tore Tom’s arm off and beat the hound to death with it—he shrugged.

Bendipe stared at him, exasperation clear on the cutouts face.

So clear in fact, that Henry could see it.

====-====-====-====

“I knew my adorable Bendipe was the best of the bunch!” Henry cooed, hugging the cutout for all he was worth. The cutout stared at the rest of the group, daring them to say anything about the scene they were taking in. A being deep in the ink eagerly padded closer, finally leaving the little safe haven on his way to get closer to Henry, leaving a battered soul behind.

====-====-====-====

“All your damn repeats of this place and you can’t figure out a better way of getting through the ink river?”

“Well, we could take a friendly dip?”

“I’d sooner kiss Sammy.”

“I’d sooner kiss a butcher gang members ass.”

“You rat fuc—”

“There we go!” An engine roared to life, flames roared out, and Henry dutifully began to hum “row your boat” as he’d done every time he’d done this. He didn’t need a clear memory to remember the countless times he’d done it either, he knew himself.

====-====-====-====

“Hello…. Jendy.” Henry steepled his fingers together, staring at the beast lurking behind the throne.

“Tell me.” Henry continued, idly taking some contraption from Sammy’s outstretched arms. “Do you know how well Ink burns?” He lit a little pipe below the nozzle, and Jendy had but a moment to contemplate life before fire consumed his vision. Sure, Henry wound up getting roasted as well, a minor issue with getting body checked by a wild ink demon while still stuck on Norman’s shoulders, but when he popped back out of the ink, he had a new plan, one he was far more excited for.

====-====-====-====

Jendy had been waiting for twenty minutes, he _knew_ Henry and the others were supposed to have popping up by now so he could pop up from behind his throne and surprise them. Only, he didn’t see them, and it had been far too long to make any level of sense. He toyed with the idea of Allison going crazy and killing Henry, or Tom drowning Henry in ink to regain his tough guy status.

Then something dripped onto his head.

Slowly, _oh so slowly_ he looked up.

“ _Hola.”_

 _“_ Twenty minutes. My lord of drama.”

“ **SCRREEEEEEEEECH!”**

“Surprise, bitch.”

And lo, death did descend upon Jendy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any game devs. The reason games like Silent hill or the old Resident evil games are scary, is because save points are rare enough to make you fear losing so much freaking progress. You can throw in as many baddies as much as you want, but the moment i die only to pop up in a gross ass inky birthing canal, i'm not afraid of running into Boopyben any more. If anything, I immediately decide that it's far more fun to run headfirst into the fucker, just to make things more entertaining.   
> This is one of many reality bending things Henry can do.   
> It's probably the only one that's gonna get a story too. besides the whole bringing life to things that shouldn't have much of any.


	17. Bendipe: Nightmare Run.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who remembered Bendy has a temple run clone!  
> I must warn you all, Bendipe doesn't quite appear much. The antics however, do.

Henry could admit many things very easily. He could admit to enjoying a nap. He could admit to enjoying that potato salad his wench of a step-aunt made despite hating her guts otherwise. He could admit to loving a good explosion here or there. Those, and more, there were plenty of things he would gladly admit to. Not to say that he didn’t have secrets of course. Things he’d never tell anyone.

The things he’d done, experienced, gone through, in the war, were but one volume of those. The other, was that sometimes, even he got bored.

After the twentieth time through the studio, mixing things up here and there, he was bored. But he’d sooner ask Jondy to draw him like a French girl before ever admitting it.

Luckily for him, the studio had begun doing some crazy things he was fairly certain shouldn’t be possible just to try and, he had no idea really. Whether it was to try and make him leave the studio or not, he didn’t really care. First came cracking open a fairy tale book and pulling from those pages. He knew damn well a few of his fellow artists of the time had been collectors of those stories so he had no doubt the thing wouldn’t run out any time soon, but evidently, it wanted something different.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have nicked the roller skates from his home before going for the next run. He’d contemplated whether popping a split with one leg clear in the air while circling Jondy was what broke it. Which, if that’s all it took, well, Henry was used to being disappointed in the things the studio tried.

But as for attempts, this one had to be the weirdest. There was no more Bendipe for one, he’d vanished when Henry had been hit by a stray swing from Sammy—and he was getting the ink musician back for that, _that was for damn sure_. Bendipe was gone, the world was oddly placed, no longer inside the studio but out on some random pier.

The black and white scenery gave him an idea, but not one he really wanted to wrap his mind around. Not when he had more pressing matters, namely, finding Bendipe. His darling little cutout was so fragile and he didn’t trust Allison as far as he could throw her. There was also a beach, and wooden ships. While the change of scenery was nice, the lack of Bendipe, or any of his friends really, was not. So, he started forward, intent on finding his little devil darling.

====-====-====-====

Henry wasn’t too sure what made him look off into the distance, clinging to the tree he’d climbed to get a better vantage point. But upon realizing he was seeing his Bendy, his brain-child, being chased by a treasure chest with teeth and tentacles, he sort of blanked. Bendy was making admirable time, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, but the thing was gaining, and the cans of soup Bendy tried throwing at the creature didn’t amount to much. Henry wiggled his way up a bit further, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing and what he should do.

Bendy, sprinting as he was, fear drawn clear on his little face, tripped. The thing reached for him, snatching him up with a tentacle. It lifted Bendy up, clearly intent on devouring the dancing demon.

But the thing was, the thing had gotten Bendy, _right below Henry._

Henry descended on the thing like a rabid honey badger.

It screamed, but there was no hope for it. There was no mercy either. Especially not when Henry tore a chunk of its own face off and began to beat every tooth out of its mouth.

By the time he was done, the world had gone still in pure, horrified shock. Henry wiped a bit of ink from his face, put the wrench back into his belt, and turned to face Bendy. Bendy stared at him, Henry stared back.

“Well…” Henry spoke, disturbing the silence that had fallen. “I bet he didn’t _treasure_ his last moments. He sure hit the _high seas_ when he screamed though!”

Bendy blinked at him, little chest heaving from running so much, then, as the meaning behind the emphasis he’d put on some words sank in, he let out a silent peal of laughter. Henry snorted, loving the adorable smile. What he didn’t love was another chest descending right next to him. He stared up at it, entirely unimpressed while his creation whistled in what he guessed was Bendy’s rendition of a scream and hid behind a palm tree. The chest almost seemed to miss Henry at first.

Shame. Damn shame.

It didn’t miss the wrench being jammed into its eye. Nor did it miss the far too gleeful smile the creator had on his face.

“Are there going to be more? Not that I don’t _treasure_ this, but really, their performances are less than _golden._ ”

Bendy squealed, immediately darting in to throw himself at Henry, hugging the man the second he landed safely in Henry’s arms. As an answer, a third one began to steam towards them, only to spot the remains of the other two, and beat a hasty retreat.

Henry held Bendy close, lone brow arched in judgement.

“Hey Devil Darling of mine, you have any idea what’s going on?” Henry asked, starting to move from the shattered remains, content to wobble his way forward on his skates. The things weren’t all that useful on sand, but Henry didn’t have any other shoes on him, just a variety of tools he’d prepared for the most recent round. Bendy shrugged, noodle shoulder tapping Henry’s chin with the motion. The little devil shimmied up until he was properly perched on Henry’s shoulder.

“Really _parroting_ behaviors now, aren’t you?” Henry teased. Notably however, he made no motion to take the little toon from his shoulder. Bendy burst into cheery laughter once more, and Henry decided he’d just go with the flow as usual.

Of course, he probably should have expected a sneak attack, the studio was a jerk like that after all, but he hadn’t. Inky tendrils burst from the sand, wrapping around Henry’s legs, tripping him. Henry twisted, barely managing to avoid making Bendy faceplant unpleasantly into sand as well as keep himself from doing so as well. He laid on the sand, contemplating all the ways he was going to make the world regret what it had done. Bendy flailed, nervously turning this way and that, clearly fearing a new attacker. Henry wasn’t too worried however, at least, not until an ink portal appeared below him, dragging him down, leaving Bendy crying out to him with a little speech bubble, reaching for him with the most fearful expression he’d ever seen on his creations face.

====-====-====-====

Henry was a reasonable man—and any who knew him would laugh at that, think about it a bit, and then laugh harder at the idea—but he had limits.

Limits that the world apparently decided to stomp on by sending his toon once more running past, this time in a city scene, being chased by a car. The thing was, the world had forgotten but one important detail about Henry.

Long ago, he was sure he’d told his friends back at the studio he’d learned things in the war, done things in the war. Namely, mechanics. Necessity made him a brilliant mechanic, not quite in fixing things, so much as jury-rigging the impossible and breaking in ways that left people confused. He’d learned astoundingly quickly that the best defense was insanity, and thus, had spent the better part of his time working his magic on unsuspecting vehicles.

He still believed his greatest feat was making that tank only drive backwards. That, or the general’s car’s accelerator being stuck so he wound up swerving directly off a bridge. Henry couldn’t really decide which. He absolutely didn’t care to pick which was better now either, not when a car of all things seemed so eager to meet his hit list.

He reached for his tools, checked his skates for any residue, found none, _and he was off._

====-====-====-====

The taxi snapped its grill at the little toon running from it. Only a few more feet, and it would have its prey. So focused it was, that it failed to hear approaching doom speeding up to it.

Shame. Damn shame.

“See now, the funny thing is, the treasure chest had a chance at winning.” It started, searching to either side of it for the voice. “You? Ohhhh, not in any incarnation this amalgamation of ink, sweat, fairy tears, and the bastardiztion of countless engineers and plumbers could have.” Then its door opened.

====-====-====-====

Bendy watched from the sidelines as Henry yanked his wrench up, sending the taxi careening into a building, cackling like mad the entire time. The taxi burst from the rubble, screaming in terror as he yanked the wrench again, and they fell into a donut, spinning wildly in place sending smoke high into the air.

Gosh did Bendy love his creator.

====-====-====-====

The next taxi was even less lucky. It managed to evade Henry’s initial lunge, forcing Henry to skate ahead, pluck Bendy from the ground, and proceed to power-skate in ways an old man shouldn’t have been able too. The taxi wasn’t sure what was more offensive.

The fact that Henry was faster than it. Or the fact that he was faster than it even while popping one leg into the air while they went down a hill, laughing the whole way.

Either way, the mockery was really grinding its gears, so, it threw a wheel at the duo. Henry avoided it nimbly, not even dropping the leg.

“Oh no Bendy, he’s getting _tired_! Someone call the taxi a taxi!” Bendy managed to snatch an anvil of all things from the road. Henry didn’t bother questioning how, not when he was clearly in a world that fell into toon logic, even a little. “Oh perfect! Patented ACME sleep-aid. Bendy you sweet little devil you!”

The anvil nailed it in the windshield, knocking it for a loop. By the time it blinked the stars from its eyes, Henry had already torn the door off of its engine and was getting to work.

It drove backwards at top speed away, unable to do anything else.

====-====-====-====

The third taxi tried surprising them by breaking out the laser eyes. It managed to score a hit on the toon, nicking his arm as the toon reached for another anvil. Henry had looked between the dazed toon whining in pain, and the taxi. His eyebrows rose, a contemplative frown drew his lips down, and he hummed.

In the distance, Death hiked up its robe and sprinted as fast as its bones could go.

It would never regret that action, simply because the last remaining moments of its life was too painful to do anything but scream.

====-====-====-====

The fourth taxi came across the two, took but a single look at Henry, coated in all manner of fluids that came from cars such as it, on top of copious amounts of ink, showing Bendy how to do a quick spin. It contemplated its life choices, decided that, no, nothing was worth going near that, and promptly backed up, pitying the next creature that was sure to run into the man.

The ink portal appeared once more, and as before, Henry didn’t even have a chance to assure Bendy before he was gone, eaten by the ink.

====-====-====-====

A giant bacon soup can.

A giant sentient bacon soup can.

A giant sentient bacon soup can that had an overabundance of silverware.

Henry nodded his head approvingly. Though, simply tossing the oversized silverware was a rookie move. He’d have to educate the fellow. But first, he needed to finish building the bonfire and stringing up the tripwire.

Bendy, the second he spotted Henry perched at the side of the road, broke from the path, sprinting like mad to reach what he perceived as safety. Rather, what he _knew_ was safety. Henry caught him as he always had, and nudged for the toon to watch. Bendy breaking from the path had saved him a nasty fall from the wire, the same couldn’t be said for the can. It fell, likely distracted by the bonfire.

Henry descended.

Henry descended like a rabid weasel so hopped up on cocaine it could have sent a whale into the sun.

The can’s last moments were spent being roasted over an open bonfire while Henry tried to show Bendy the joys of smores.

====-====-====-====

“Hey Tin Man! You got a heart in that body of yours? No no, don’t bother to answer, I’ve always preferred a more hands on approach. Now, Bendy, pay attention because I’m going to show you how to open a tin can with a swiss army knife. Tin can, I have great news for you, if you ever wondered what your insides looked like, well, I’m about to show you, might want to _steel_ yourself.”

====-====-====-====

“Knife to meet you!” Henry started, ready to dish out his line of jokes. But the can bypassed him, somehow having the maneuverability to do so. Really, it was just a can desperate to avenge its fallen comrades in some way. It swiped at Bendy, sending him into a pole.

“Ohhhhh _you done forked up now mother fu—”_ The wrath that poured from Henry eclipsed the sun, blotting out the sky, putting the can into a world of darkness. That, and Henry’s first action was to go for the eyes. The tin can thought ‘jokes on you, it’s better to not see my death coming” But the joke was on it. Henry knew how to make things _twice as awful without vision._

====-====-====-====

The fourth just laid down and stared up at the sky. Henry laid down beside it, prompting Bendy to do the same. They did that until a portal whisked Henry away. As the ink covered his vision, he managed to catch sight of Bendy angrily thumping his fists on the ground.

====-====-====-=====

The next place looked like a library. Books on shelves spanning all the way up to the ceiling. The floor Henry stood on was suspended above nothing as far as he could see, but it was definitely floating. Which, Henry found quite interesting, but, knowing how the other places had gone, he had plans to make. This area returned his ability to use his skates however, so he made sure to factor that in as he pulled the mental box out, cracked it open, and dove in. Nothing quite warranted going outside the box just yet, and for that, he sure hoped the studio was thankful. If it wasn’t, it would learn.

 

As did Bendy apparently, Henry observed. Bendy was lobbing all sorts of things back at the ink bottle charging after him. The bottle had a few cracks here and there, evidence of a battle that had been going on while Henry prepared. Henry nervously wondered if he should have gone to find Bendy first before setting things up, taking a gander at the territory, planning things out…well, it was too late now, and Bendy seemed to be handling himself.

Henry sniffled, a proud tear slipping down a stained cheek. Amidst the papers and chess boards and lamps, his little brain-child had found it in himself to fight smarter. Henry was sure that had Bendy tried taking the thing on any other way, he’d have scolded Bendy for being reckless, after watching the ink bottle show Bendy how tactics was far more important than temper. Lessons were important after all, and though he loved Bendy, he’d never coddled children before, he certainly wasn’t going to start now.

Once Bendy was close enough, Henry whistled for the toon, motioning for him to jump to Henry. Bendy almost seemed to springboard from the floor, leaping high enough to clear over the lovely setup Henry had waiting for the bottle. The bottle, and he couldn’t fault it for not seeing the trap, but it didn’t, so it got to deal with not having great night vision. It hit the first tripwire, toppling over and spilling ink from its body, covering the floor—the floor that had been strung up with the electric cords powering the lamps. The same power cords that reacted masterfully with the ink, and because toon logic didn’t care whether something was truly capable of being zapped, it lit up like a Christmas tree.

Henry mildly regret not having marshmallows like last time, but then thought better of it. The ink fumes would probably have made the treat taste funny.

====-====-====-====

The second one wound up tripping on a field of scattered chess pieces, sliding right off the edge of the floating path. Henry let Bendy silently laugh at it from his shoulder, still proud of the earlier fighting spirit Bendy had shown. He _knew_ his devil darling wasn’t a full gutless coward. The toon seemed even more clingy though, whining if Henry even motioned like he was going to move Bendy. So, while waiting for the next one to come chugging along, Henry told Bendy of Bendipe and the rest back at the studio.

He almost left out Joody, but decided it would be all the better to tell the toon. Especially since he wouldn’t be able to give the little fella some of his more elaborate methods of handling unsightly sorts. He even began to skate, gliding across the floor as he spoke, motioning some of the more fun things. Bendy listened almost reverently, cheering in places, frowning in others.

Henry pat the toon on the head when his ink bristled at the mention of the deaths. Dying wasn’t even remotely scary any more. Not when he knew he would just spring up, raring to go, moments later. He could do without the gross tunnel o’ ink though. By the time he’d gotten to the time he’d brought his more explosive equipment in, the third one had finally appeared, and this one seemed to be the most determined one thus far.

It charged after them, throwing whatever it had at them, including inky bats and things crawling along the ground. Henry deftly avoided everything, well used to the art of dodging by now. Bendy kept an observant eye out for threats, all while lobbing things at the ink bottle, keeping it away. When ink began to rain from the ceiling, Henry figured he’d try playing its game for a bit longer. If it wanted a chase, then a chase it would get.

He kept a solid grip on Bendy, then kicked the speed up so fast it created a dust cloud.

“Please tell me it’s waddling after us.” Henry huffed, controlling his breathing. He never thought he’d be glad he kept up with his exercising but there he was, outpacing things so much so he had to wait for it to catch up just to see the hilarious waddle. Bendy kept trying to get him to just keep going, get as far from it as possible. Henry wasn’t too sure why considering he’d been avoiding it spectacularly thus far. Bendy didn’t seem to be afraid of the thing, more…angry at it.

Henry supposed he would have been mad too if a sentient ink bottle was hauling it after him, trying to dump ink on him of all things. So the anger wasn’t surprising.

The ink pens jabbing out of the floor, nearly impaling him however, that sure was. He slammed into one he was going too fast to dodge completely, wheezing as the air was knocked from his lungs. Bendy made a distressed whistle, shifting his gaze between Henry and the creature that had finally managed to catch up once more. Henry shook the pain off, using thoughts of Sammy leaping out of the shadows to bash the thing open with a chair, or Norman screeching loud enough to rattle the thing, perhaps send it into a panic.

Alice would likely just watch them run for it, alternating between cheering them on and tossing things at the creature the way Bendy was. Bendipe would have stared whichever direction he faced. He didn’t much care to think of how Allison and Tom would be. He’d been disappointed by their surprisingly shallow personalities far too much to truly think much of them.

Distractions were never good when one was running what was essentially a gauntlet. Henry was blinded by a wash of ink, only barely catching Bendy in a panicked wild grab. The fact that Bendy had moved proved to be a good thing when a pen sprang from the ground, impaling Henry straight through the chest as he’d been leaning forward to try and remove the ink from his eyes. Bendy let out a heartbreaking wail as Henry collapsed, the pen vanishing back into the ground, done with its job.

The ink around them writhed, warping just the way Joody did, except this was far more erratic, wild. The moment the ink bottle reached the area of effect, the ink in it boiled, shattering it in a glorious spray of glass. Bendy continued to wail, stomping his feet without letting go of Henry’s hand. Henry, who felt himself fading faster, squeezed Bendy’s hand once, and, as he’d done before, died.

====-====-====-====

He woke up back in the studio, tucked in a corner behind Bendipe, while the rest relaxed or paced restlessly in the room they’d commandeered. Henry yawned, scratching his chest where the wound had been, finding nothing, something that didn’t really surprise him. Still, despite the odd dream, he wasn’t too put out by it, not when he’d been able to interact with his creation for the first time in a long time. At least, his creation as an actual ink creature, not Bendipe. He hoped he hadn’t scarred his poor child too much with his death.

He stood, alerting to the others who promptly swarmed him.

“Henry!”

“You vanished after Jondy hit you, we found you by one of the statues and only just got you out of a swarm of watchers. Alice used their faces as stepping stones, you should have seen it.”

“Are you okay? Bendipe is, before you ask, he was how we found you actually. The other cutouts kept looking down the halls we were supposed to go.”

“Awww, that’s my Bendipe!” Henry pat the cutout lovingly on the head, unaware of it sticking a mental tongue out at a little ink creature stomping his feet in his little haven. He’d been _so happy_ with his creator finally with him, even if it had been a part of a silly game. The cutout wasn’t fair, getting all of their dad’s attention for so long.

Henry soothed the others worries, ushering them on to continue their path of crazy antics, all while he told them of the silly dream he’d had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that i envisioned bendipe strapped to a cart with rockets attached, nyooming through the levels. But It just read better for the little devil darling himself to appear instead. Little fact, when I write silly things, i tend to break out ra ra rasputin. i don't know why it makes me write things like this, but it does. Lets be real here, no one would get anywhere near Bendy with Henry around, unless Bendy did something stupid, in which case Henry would probably watch the fallout, walk up to Bendy after, check for wounds, then "What we learn."
> 
> For anyone who wanted more Bendipe. I took a break from drawing Mugs in dresses, Queen Dice, and a new AU i've crafted up to write this after hearing the song about this game on a playlist. Also, a lot of exhaustion, boy I'm tired. 
> 
> As another side, if anyone wants to request something, by all means, go ahead.


	18. Cooking with Regret part II (Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings. No real reason to read the other one shot in here, but you can if you want.  
> Gross recipes are one thing, gross recipes that have ingredients that just ain't right? Well...

A few years had gone by since the casino incident—or as Elder Kettle knew it, the great adoption, he blamed Mugman’s weaponized cute for at least five of the debtors proclaiming themselves aunts or uncles. Things hadn’t settled down, not at all. Which was to be expected with the sudden increase in relatives. Even if he left out the fact that the boys had somehow weaseled their way into the casino’s good graces—Mugman had simply told him he didn’t want to know how, he hadn’t questioned it after that—things simply weren’t as peaceful as they used to be.

To a degree, Elder Kettle was fine with that. His boys needed the exercise—sort of, they were porcelain—and needed plenty of healthy role models—Elder sometimes laughed himself to sleep on days when he tried to imagine any of the others as anything remotely resembling a good influence for them. On the other hand, he knew how old he was, and he knew even more acutely how he’d been rusting faster as of late. There was only so much he could do to stave off the effects the salt water had on him, and none of those methods did any good anymore.

On one fine day, with Elder Kettle sitting out on the porch, watching nothing in particular, came a new visitor. One Elder Kettle had expected, but was also _prepared_ for. He rocked peacefully back and forth, keeping his body relaxed, and his cane at the right angle to take a leg with a single twitch of the wrist. Death stood before him, scythe held in one hand, black cloak flowing with unseen wind but never truly exposing anything underneath.

“Elder Kettle, your—”

“I’m going to have to stop you there.” Elder Kettle stood, rusty knee creaking. “Come with me. I’d like to show you something.” Death, thoroughly confused, did as requested. It had some time to spare, so it wasn’t any hassle to humor the old man.

====-====-====-====

Elder Kettle led the embodiment of death into the house, gesturing for him to be quiet. The first thing Death noticed was that the kitchen looked like a war had gone down, food even dripped from the ceiling. The next thing noted was the quiet chatter behind a door on the left, beyond the kitchen. Elder Kettle led him to the door, sparing the claw marks on basically everything barely a glance. He remained focused on the door.

Stopping just outside it, He motioned for Death to take a peek, knowing full well no one could see the entity unless they were like Elder Kettle, namely, on Death’s list. The two children sitting on the floor of a bedroom weren’t, so Death observed them. The two children, porcelain bright and smooth, each with a favored color dominating their clothing, sat facing one another. The red one leaned against the bunk bed, a look of trepidation on his face. The other, the blue one, had a smile so merciless not even the prim way the boy sat, with both legs tucked under his body acting as a cushion, could fool Death. The blue one also had an apron on, with stains that matched those out in the kitchen, a clear indicator of just which one had caused the mess. There, closer to the red one than the blue one, sat a plate, the source of the battle.

It looked like a fish made of gelatin, with numerous things inside its body, ranging from shrimp to tuna as far as Death could tell. It was hard to truly tell despite the clear red body suspending everything. At first, Death thought nothing of the scene. It looked like a sibling pranking the other considering how nervous the red one appeared. Confused, and suspicious that the old kettle had fallen to any level of diseases that rotted the brain, Death still looked on.

“Well?” The blue one, Mugman based on the shadow whispering into Death’s hood, gestured for the other to pick up the spoon. The red one, Cuphead, shakily grinned.

“Uh, now, now Mugs, you uh… you know how much I love you, right?” Cuphead’s hands were open, palm up in an imploring manner. The unnerving smile remained on the other’s face.

“I do!”

“See, your wonderful big brother loves you, but gee, y’know, sometimes I wonder if you love me too. And you know the best way to show you do?” The fact that Mugman’s eyes going just a hint more narrow was the only sign he was paying attention deeply unsettled Death. It hadn’t seen an expression like that on a child in an impressively long time.

“And what would that be, dear big brother?” The kid was playing along, Death pitied the red cup.

“You could forget that little thing about me having to eat whatever recipes I bring home! Just this once, Elder Kettle doesn’t have to know.” There was so much desperation, Death was partially tempted to send the plate off into the void. Kid was good, Death could admit that.

Mugman pressed a hand to his chest, a tiny little shocked gasp slipping out.

“But… but big brother, I worked so hard on that!” Death wasn’t prepared. No one had warned the being, not a soul had thought it pertinent to tell Death that it would be coming face to face with someone who’d mastered cute. The shaky note to his voice, the wet sheen on sparkling blue eyes hinting towards blue tinged tears, the soft pout, it was all _perfect._

‘ _Holy shit_.’ Death whispered, thanking the world that not a soul heard it beyond the one standing behind the door, face devoid of all emotion.

The red one stumbled, he tried, Death could see that plain as day, to fight through the adorable to continue trying to get out of eating the thing with olives for eyes. Eyes, Death noticed, that were a tad too _alive._

“Yeah but… I mean… i—did that thing just move?!” Cuphead threw himself back, hitting the bunk bed’s frame hard.

“Fairly certain it did. It fought me brother. You wouldn’t happen to know why the anchovies chanted backwards latin while challenging me to a knife fight would you?”

The cute was gone.

The cute was entirely gone, and Death wanted it back. Those eyes held promises of murder, and Death wasn’t ready for the total one-eighty the kid pulled. There was a _gleam_ in that child’s eyes.

“I _knew_ I shouldn’t have made a detour to the casino before coming back…” Cuphead hissed under his breath, shakily wielding the spoon like a sword. Mugman returned to his previous position, but there was a slight change from before. Now, He was resting one of his palms on the ground, form oddly tense despite the loose pose. Cuphead went to poke at the thing masquerading as food.

It let out a tiny war cry, and launched itself onto Cuphead’s face. The red cup screeched, his flailing sending the spoon flying. Mugman threw himself onto the dresser behind him, doing exactly nothing to help his sibling. In fact, the child looked like the cat who’d gotten the cream and the canary.

As Cuphead tried to get any sort of grasp on gelatin, Death slowly returned to Elder Kettle’s side. They didn’t speak for a while, listening to the crashing, the screaming, the thuds, and the tiny shouts from the “food”.

“No other family to raise them?”

“Well, they’ve got the rest of the Isle. You know of Hilda berg? Perhaps maybe Cagney Carnation, or Beppi the clown? There’s Brineybeard too, oh and—”

“I have to make a few calls.” Death, horror pouring from it in waves, sank into a shadow almost comically fast.

“It tastes like regret and pimento!”

“I know!”

“My eyes! It got olive in my eyes!”

“SCREEEEEEEE!”

Elder Kettle made his way back to the rocking chair moved outside, a hop in his step that belied his age, knee creaking the whole time.

====-====-====-====

Life appeared before Elder Kettle fifteen minutes later, spouting something along the lines of ‘Never seen Death so scared in my life’ and ‘Let’s try giving you a thousand more years just to be safe’ among other things. Then, just as quickly as Life had appeared, it was gone in a swirl of wind.

“Elder Kettle help!” Came a cry from inside. Elder Kettle got up smoothly, quietly, and went back inside, smug grin not even remotely hidden under his mustache.

“Get the frying pan!”

“No! Cuphead, I just got that as a gift from Auntie Bon Bon!”

“SCREEE!”

“AAAAHHHH!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look man, I just really want to write fun things. And I'm insanely weak to cute/funny/fun sibling fluff. Like... astoundingly weak. I just want all the interactions with them and the others. 
> 
> http://dbkitschen.blogspot.com/2014/11/glace-fish-mold.html  
> That's the recipe, give or take a few things.
> 
> I ain't apologizing.


	19. Nun of that (Cuphead, human genderbend AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake eyes.
> 
> Pride is one hell of a dangerous thing. In fact, some would even call it a sin.

A group sitting in a chapel late at night spoke with hushed voices. Candles flickered around them, shadows dancing, twisting under the light. When one person’s voice would rise with embroiled, passionate emotion, the rest would quickly hush them, hastily glancing at the windows. Silence would rule for but a minute before rolling back up. Black uniforms shrouded their bodies, leaving only the flesh to catch and hover above wooden pews shined to a mirror finish. Men and women of the cloth murmured, various topics rolling across the room like the tide. Washing across to one side, falling back with new pieces of chatter mixed in, then once more to the other side with new topics entangled.

The biggest topic however, was one that had been spoken of for centuries, ridding the world of the evils which plagued it. Some spoke of how the donations had helped support families who’d fallen on hard times. Others spoke of how thankful the homeless were for the cushioned pews pulled out before closing so those in need of shelter had something comfortable to rest on. Plenty more chatted about how some were chased out of town for their sinful ways. But the iridescent shell that followed the ebb and flow across the room ceaselessly was brought up by one priest in particular. One who dreamed of the day he’d vanquish the beast of sin. The one corrupting the precious lambs, luring them away from the holy light with dark promises.

He was the one hushed most often, not because the rest didn’t agree, but they feared that the evils of the world had ears, and the chapel they were in, though richly decorated, polished and refined, wasn’t sound proof. Stained glass windows, beautiful that they were, lacked in keeping sound in or out. Slowly, oh so slowly, creeping, entangling the other conversations, the idea grew, spread.

“The beast is known to be easily distracted. A bolt made of silver and iron blessed by us all is sure to leave a mark. That thing now has a den of sin, dripping in luxury and wealth, mocking us!” He ducked his head apologetically as yet another wave of hushes descended on him. Still, that did not deter him, and he pressed on, clutching the golden cross around his neck tightly. “We have the means, we just need the method. It would be all too simple.”

“Father, the beast is distracted, but it isn’t dimwitted. That thing has ended many lives with cunning hard to match.  To enter the lair of that beast would be suicide, even with holy protection.” Another responded, breaking from the quiet whispers closest to him. A few of the nuns ducked their heads, wisps of words streaming from them, impossible to understand even to those nearby, but they had none of the attention. That was on the priest.

“It’s dangerous, but just think, to be able to lure the creature, get it focused on something long enough for one of us to drive a dagger or holy relic into whatever poses as its heart! The sin of the world would die with the beast!”

“Even if you had such a weapon,” One held their hand up, urging for the man to stay quiet and let him speak, “Who among us would truly want to step into that den of sin? Temptation runs deep in us all and what worse place to be than one cursed with enticing chances for straying off the path? Do you not recall the father that previously led your church? He tried the very same thing you are suggesting and wound up…well.” Though the priest drifted off, the rest shuddered, well aware of the aftermath of that man. He’d been found attached to the gold cross that sat atop his church, molten gold wrapped around his wrists and ankles, burned across his forehead. It had been gruesome, and no one had seen the few that had been rumored to have gone with him.

Some speculated he’d fallen for the beasts current form, that of a woman, and was abandoned by the holy angels above for treason. Others said he’d strayed from the path of the Father long before that, when he’d taken over for the other priest who’d been trading the holy relics in the church for money. That church was still recovering its former glory, the lush red carpet that had originally adorned the floor was still not replaced, drab flooring that creaked every once in a while an eyesore to the priests who’d come into the building after their predecessor vanished. The golden statues that used to decorate the various tables were still gone. The current priest was following in the footsteps of the former.

He refused to say his true goal was the wealth he _knew_ was hidden in that gilded building. Just picturing how grand his church could become with such money, imagining chandeliers, draperies depicting whatever money could buy, artworks to leave even the high church speechless… It made him near desperate to achieve his goal. The added bonus of being able to claim the title as the destroyer of sin equally grand in his eye. People would flock to the church just to see the glory of it all, see what he and the rest had accomplished. Just a small sacrifice was all that would be needed, and so, he pressed.

“That may be so, but you know as well as I how we’ve stayed firm. What good is liquor when it distracts you from His holy image? Measly games mean nothing in the light of the angels above, as we all know. But think of this, if you will. Imagine grand cathedrals built off the ashes of that beasts claim on this earth. Just imagine how wonderful the world would be without the leader of unholiness sullying every shadow with her ghastly image. Surely, we would not stray! We are His beloved children. We have the ability, we just need the courage. Any one of us could be the distraction, the lure, the one to hold her long enough for a killing blow.”

“Do you think you could do it?” A nun spoke up, catching his gaze. The man eagerly nodded.

“I’ve melted the silver and iron of a few relics down into a dagger. It’s been soaked in holy water, prayed over for strength, there’s not a chance it wouldn’t do just a small amount of damage.” He gestured to the vague direction of his own church.

“What of distractions? What did you have in mind?” She continued, as if uninterested in the mentioned weapon. That wasn’t too surprising to him, nuns were quite against violence after all. A few of the other nuns had started shifting uncomfortably during the talk.

“Word has spread of the beast being easily enamored with pretty things, or any who challenge her to a battle of sorts. Be it a battle of wills or talent. Give me a day to gather the other daggers I’ve prepared so that I can give more of us a chance of besting the creature. I’m certain we can get her to breathe her last fetid breath before the one acting as the distraction could fall or be cast out of His light. We’re doing this not just to cleanse the world, but for the greater good! That thing fell from grace, what better show of our adoration than to destroy what clings to life that should not be? How joyous He would be! Are none of you confident in yourselves?”

There was but one priest out of the group that remained staunch in not wanting any part of the idea. A handful of nuns joined him, but the man focused solely on the sister before him, draped in the thick black robes, looking at him with such _belief_ in her eyes.

“If you’re sure, if you believe so deeply that you can do it, then I will volunteer to act as the distraction.” The nuns murmured nervously, many frowning deeply, fear for their fellow sister clear on what portions of their faces showed in the candlelight.

“Sister, your devotion is strong, but that thing is _dangerous!_ ”

“So she is,” the sister nodded indulgently, voice soothing. “But we are not without our bite, are we not? Have a little _faith_ dear sister. The father would not talk so boldly if he was not certain, correct?”

“Exactly.” Guilt crept up his throat, a trickle in a sea of excited relief. Though he had hoped a fellow priest would have volunteered, a sister was just as good he supposed. The beast was in the form of a woman, so the sister might have a greater chance of overpowering any temptations.

She gazed at him steadily just for a minute more, and gave one final nod.

“Then I will prepare, same as you. It wouldn’t be wise of me to walk in as I am now. Allow me to plan a good performance, one that will hold her long enough for you to spring the trap.”

He nodded, and twelve others nodded as well, the rest held their breaths, tension high in their figures.

====-====-====-====

None of the twelve were dressed as men and women of the cloth. Two other nuns had stayed, determined to act as steady hands should any of the fathers stray. They sandwiched the one who’d volunteered, while the rest of the priests tentatively observed the bright building before them. Even from where they stood across the street, sounds from within spilled out to them. The building was built in the grand mouth of a cave stretching high above them. The rumors had it that the building sprang up one day, and had only continued to sit there as the years went on. The neon lights, the glittering gold streaked across the façade, the red carpet leading up to grand doors elaborately carved was something few had truly seen.

Had it not been for the few rowdier drunks here or there outside the building it would have been the perfect image of luxury. The nun, hair shrouded by a scarf, body covered by a warm jacket, was the first to walk forward. They spoke of a mild plan before hand, while approaching the building. She would go in first, followed by the rest of the group who’d come in three at a time. She would find the Devil, do her thing, and as she kept the unholy one focused on her, the others would converge onto the beast. One would deliver the first stab, and if that proved to not be enough, the rest would join in. The priest who’d thought it all up was the one who would deliver the first and final blow. He assured them that should the plan go right, the nun wouldn’t ever come to harm and would have plenty of years to request forgiveness for whatever she did to aid them in destroying the Devil.

Her deep sunglasses made it hard to see her eyes, but she promised it was to keep the effect perfect. Reasoning with them that she couldn’t bear the thought of showing more than needed. The other two nuns, wearing thick skirts and prim shirts, sympathetically nodded, adamant they would forgive her no matter what she’d done.

“Once more, you’re sure you can beat her?” The nun spoke, focus on the building as lights danced gracefully across them all. The priest, well aware she was likely frightened, once more reassured her as requested.

“I, along with the rest, will have her blood on our sleeves by the end of this night.”

“Then, shall we begin?” She seemed to glance up to the sky, just for a moment, likely sending a prayer, and then she was striding across the street. The father, the one who’d follow closest to be sure he would be able to follow her to the beast, trailed a handful of feet behind, watching the white heels she’d put on turned gold in the light of the casino.

====-====-====-====

He stepped in, right on time to watch the nun drop her scarf and coat into the arms of a worker who stood by a coatroom. Her pure white hair caught the light instantly, making it impossible to not see her. Having not seen her outside her uniform, he briefly lost focus of everything else. The gown she wore, a deep lilac silk that hugged her every curve. Every move she made in it would make it shift with her, shining stunningly against her skin. Bright, _vivid_ green eyes flicked back his way, then returned to the worker, thanking them, and then she was _moving._

She _glided_ across the floor, drifting past other patrons, brushing past a few workers, heading for the main table in the heart of the casino. As the rest joined him, as he hastily shook his head at the hands outstretched for his coat, he watched her. A nun was the one to usher him further in, whispering for him to calm himself. He pressed shaking hands to his coat, straining himself to not reach for the cross he’d removed for fear that the Devil would sense it. Some of the other priests were just as focused on her, watching as her hips rolled and swayed with each precise step she took towards the table.

She slid into a seat that was vacant, directly across from their target. The other woman easily towered over the rest at the table. She had thick curly hair spilling across everything in untamed curls. She’d let out cackles here or there, hellfire flickering in her bright eyes. Some closest to her cowered, shakily placing weak bets to an expressionless dealer. She slouched in her seat, that much was evident when, upon their nun sitting down, she perked up, rising even higher. By that point, as a group, they’d shifted closer and closer, enough to hear her speak.

“Hey there, high roller, care to give a gal a spot of entertainment?” Her voice matched her liquid velvet motions. A roll of her shoulder, a soft tap of a white-tipped nail, a subtle tilt, enough to expose an elegant neck, all of it had the Devil enraptured. The nun was answered with a nod, and the dealer plucked a stack of chips to drop in front of the newcomer.

The group shifted, unsure of how to split up, not now that a few more had taken interest in the game.

“What sorta entertainment we talkin’ darlin?” The Devil’s voice, by comparison to the nun’s was rough, deep and heavy.

“Just a simple game or two is all I ask, that’s not too much, is it?” Devil tossed her head back, harsh laughter booming from her, shoulders shaking with the strength of her mirth.

“Hell no.” She nudged a few chips forward with a black nail. The nun mimicked her movement with a far more polished one of her own. The nun crossed her legs, slit in the gown allowing for one of her thighs to be seen, the edge of a lacy thigh-high stocking plainly visible against her skin.

A bit of heat drifted across the group, but none were surprised, nor did many notice. It seemed as if the rest of the world dimmed just to focus everything on the pair at the table. The dice rolled, the game began, and it became impossible to take their eyes away from the scene. When Devil would start to look around, the nun would speak up, and be the center of attention once more. Whispers behind the group softly followed the game, growing more intense when the game fell in favor of the Devil.

At one point, the priest furthest back thought he felt something brush against his back, but he was far more focused on when the nun brushed a few wrinkles out of her sleek dress. The next roll clacked across the table, and the building grew darker still. Some patrons towards the back became obscured in the smoke of the cigars and cigarettes.

The dice clattered in the nun’s favor, pulling the game to a deadlock once more.

The noise from the billiard tables grew faint.

The dice rolled towards Devil, no chips were added to her side, but she did start to rhythmically tap a single nail against the green fabric covering the table.

The bar fell near silent.

One of the other players slid from the table, leaving before the next roll.

The sounds from the roulette tables faded, replaced by whispers.

The dice once more pulled the game to the nun’s side, and she stood, heels delicately pressing into the plush red carpet under the table.

Another patron left the table. The machines fell mute, sounding muffled where they’d been clear before.

One of the nuns jolted when a shadow flitted across the light above them. Though, when she glanced up to the light, she couldn’t see anything.

The shapes of the other patrons began to shift as the shadows expanded, as the haze of smoke drifted thickly across them. The nun _prowled_ one step at a time, each roll of the dice carrying her one step closer to the Devil who’d gone from grinning wide to plain wide-eyed. Her nail no longer tapped against the fabric.

Heat washed over them once more, and the ones towards the edge of the group felt a chill follow immediately after. The nun lifted her hand, gold band decorating her ring finger glinting in the light. Her hand was caught by one of the Devil’s, the woman seemingly not even breathing.

The nun on the outermost side felt something near searing press close to her.

_“It aint nice to think yerself capable of slayin angels.”_  

“ _How dangerous a thought that is.”_

_“How arrogant a thought that is.”_

_“How **sinful.”**_

“Oh _sweetheart.”_ Devil breathed out rapturously, pressing the hand to her ashen cheek.

The priest on the outermost right screamed as nails drove into his arm, breaking the bone as if breaking a twig. A nun, seeing the shadow again, raised her head once more, and as a pale pair of carnival dressed workers descended on her, her shriek joined his. Followed closely by another wail as blazing hot hands burned straight to the bone, powerful hands belonging to a woman radiating heat not releasing the priest’s arm until the bone charred black.

“Happy anniversary, my dear.” Queen Dice answered just as lovingly, pressing her body close to Devil’s as the rest of the casino descended on the twelve before they’d even had a chance. The last image the priest who’d been so sure he was about to obtain glory saw, was that of the nun tilting her head up for a deep kiss, white hair gleaming bright under the lights. Then, all he knew was suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Queen Dice goes out hunting for priests or nuns with far too much pride or greed or just plain sin. Ones willing to risk dragging others down so they can achieve what they want, to get them to go to the casino where they are then mercilessly slaughtered by the workers as an anniversary or birthday gift is brilliant and I will stand by it dammit.
> 
> Though, any time i think of King Dice or Queen Dice as an actual priest or nun, my only thought is how they'd just tell a person "calm down, see that father over there? He got down and dirty with Sister over there. You saying 'praise dog' instead of 'praise god' probably doesn't even fall on the big guys radar compared to that. Let's be real here."
> 
> And other things of the like.


	20. Possessed posessions(Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairings.  
> Being told to sit on the sidelines while your family gets stomped into the dirt by things twenty times his size can make a sibling desperate. Very desperate. 
> 
> This freaking thing has been taking up all my time through the week. Just... enjoy.

Devil lounged back in his chair, tail lazily flicking back and forth as the lord of Hell basked in the various sounds around him. From the steady pulse of the casino to the low hum Hell gave off.  Every once in a while, an imp would wander in. Some were there to drop off various contracts accumulated by the casino. Others came to offer up treats, be it cigars or wine, on the off chance he felt in the mood. A slow blink gave him a new view through the eyes of Chips. When Devil was feeling particularly bored, he liked to delve through those closest to him, seeing what they saw, hearing what they heard. Most of the time it was just to check up on things without having to get up. He was lazy, and if he really felt like it, he’d claim it was age catching up to him. That usually warranted a solid eye roll by his manager. Speaking of…

He still hadn’t figured out King Dice’s eyes. Despite King Dice being the closest to him, all he ever got when trying to pry into King Dice’s senses was a gaping void. At first, he’d been struck dumb. He thought King Dice was blind and deaf for a little while, up until he let that thought slip and got a nasty grin in return. “Maybe there are some things you shouldn’t be digging your mitts into; don’t you think _boss?_ ”

Devil still tried when the mood really struck him. Yet, years into it, and nothing. Which, considering the purple die was currently being towered over by one of the blisteringly vicious demons, not having a link wasn’t always a good thing. He sighed, shifting to rest his Pitchfork on the closest pile of papers. He wouldn’t need it, so he wasn’t keen on dragging it around. With a flash of hellfire, he was gone, leaving an empty room devoid of all noise.

That is, all noise, except for a tiny shuffling sound.

The pitchfork matched the hum Hell sang out with a higher one of its own. The humming rose and lowered in pitch, growing stronger, then softer, then, as the papers under the heavy weapon shifted in a breeze that hadn’t been there before, the hum turned into nothing. Hell continued to hum by itself, uncaring of the loss. It knew its partner would be back eventually, and if it didn’t stop its child from having fun, it certainly wouldn’t stop its oldest friend. Especially not when the fun was likely to benefit the both of them, whether it benefit the souls resting below the metal frame that was slowly fading, that was just the draw of the cards. Still, it couldn’t help but let a slip of humor out, replacing what vanished with a replica some mortal had brought down with them.

====-====-====-=====

Two porcelain teens stared wordlessly at the hit list in the hands of the elder brother. After patching up numerous chips and cracks, the younger was about as happy as he could be given the current situation, enough to stop fussing. They had until midnight tomorrow, and exactly two contracts after two solid hours of the eldest trying and failing to find a peaceful means of separating contracts from debtors. On one hand, Cuphead was afraid of talking. Afraid that if he did, his brother would take that as the green light to chew him out like he _knew_ his younger brother would. On the other, the silence was driving into his head, turning his soul liquid grey with worry and guilt.

So, instead of talking, he glanced at Mugman, and offered up a smile. Mugman stared at him silently, eyes going wide as one of Cuphead’s teeth cracked off entirely, falling to the ground. The brothers looked at the tooth, both stock still. Finally, with a great sigh that was entirely unnecessary for someone without lungs, Mugman plucked it from the ground and brought the near empty glue back out. The glue that had been full up at the start of their journey. Cuphead groaned, letting his head roll off his shoulders and into his hands resting palm up on his lap. Mugman closed his eyes, listening to the muffled screaming as a flurry of thoughts sprinted a marathon through his mind. Ahead of them, the forest rustled, likely Goopy Le Grande taking a gander at the two, getting a good laugh probably.

Cuphead stood sharply, stubbornly ignoring how his lower right leg started to slide on glue not quite set yet. He put his head back into place in that same motion, hardly giving a thought to the move. Mugman made a startled noise, reaching for Cuphead, but too afraid to grab the arm he’d just managed to piece back together.

“Cuphead! You need to stay still!” He offered up the tooth and glue, nudging his brother’s tense shoulder. “Please, just a few minutes more, you can’t take another hit the way you are.” Mugman tried his most soothing tone, doing everything in his power to keep the wobble in it from being audible. Cuphead remained tense, eyes trained on the tree line, as if Goopy would pop out and go after them right there in the small clearing they’d retreat to. Mugman hesitantly moved to pat Cuphead’s shoulder, hoping to coax him to sit back down. Instead, Cuphead sharply twisted away, still refusing to look at his brother.

He brushed past Mugman, knowing well and good they had a deadline. It wasn’t Mugman who’d rolled those dice. The idea that his brother would suffer for Cuphead’s mistakes hurt more than the numerous crack spidering across his body. More than the pangs ripping into his soul as sniffles and sounds of fabric hastily rubbing across porcelain fell further behind the further he went.

What he didn’t hear, nor see, was how his brother, who was stuffing the glue back into his pocket and the tooth into his other pocket for safe keeping, froze, head darting up, eyes scanning the nearby surroundings. He tilted his head as a breeze softly rolled through the clearing, closing his eyes when nothing that could be the source of the noise fell into his line of sight.

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice quiet, barely a whisper, afraid and hopeful at once.

A soft hum was the only answer, and with only a few seconds of hesitation, Mugman nodded, then, the world went black.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead trudged back to the clearing where Goopy waited for him. Or rather, had bee practicing his boxing moves on trees. A branch crunched under his shoe, Goopy spun to face him, spun a few times actually, what with having no truly solid body made sharp turns a bit difficult for him. It was funny the first time he’d seen it, not so much the second or third. It was a waste of time by the tenth try. Cuphead adjusted his shorts, trying to get some of the glue that was pressed from the crack on his leg off the fabric.

“Usually you chumps stop once it becomes apparent the third time had no charm.” Goopy mocked, body undulating as he prepared to jump. Instead of bantering with Goopy, as he had before, he just opened fire, bright blue bullets bringing a frown to Goopy’s face. Starting small, Goopy threw himself up into a great leap, slapping back down where Cuphead used to be.

Being hit so often meant Cuphead was getting better at knowing how Goopy worked. He knew how far Goopy could jump, and when to dodge now. The charm given to him by Porkrind made it easier to ghost past the riskier dodges. He kept up the firepower, switching to heavy close-range shots when the opportunity presented itself. It was going pretty well, to the point Goopy lost the mocking grin in favor of a far more barbarous one. Though Cuphead didn’t see what Goopy pulled from his glove, he did see the results of whatever Goopy downed with an audible gulp.

Cuphead’s jaw fell slack as more and more of Goopy took up the clearing, the debtor easily growing twice as large. Pearly white teeth shone maliciously as Goopy turned, looking down on the far tinier cup. The charm worked double time now, barely keeping Cuphead safe from Goopy’s thunderous landings. But, most importantly, it wasn’t turning into a lost cause. He was still in one piece, still dodging, landing hit after hit. It was going _well_. He wondered where Mugman was, usually his brother was waiting off on the sidelines in case it looked like Cuphead was about to lose. Though Cuphead had forbidden him from getting into the thick of it, Mugman got around that by playing as a distraction. He was the reason Cuphead could actually have multiple go’s at bosses. There was no doubt in his mind they’d have shattered him long ago if not for Mugman.

Looking for the telltale white and blue cost him precious reaction time. Something he learned the hard way when a massive red glove sprang out of Goopy. Cuphead crashed back against a tree, handle snapping clean off, chest gaining a web of cracks. He wheezed, sliding to the side in time to avoid another punch thrown at his head.

“I’m getting real tired of you comin’ around you little brat! How’s about you get to learning it ain’t wise to pick on someone twice your size!” Goopy sneered, body rippling with the force of his rage. Cuphead winced, struggling to sit up straight or get behind the tree, anything to not be a sitting duck.

“That’s right Cuphead, the rotten blueberry has a very good point.” While the voice was familiar, the tone of it, a darker, _amused_ lilt to a usually warm voice, was not. Cuphead forced his head up, gritting his teeth as his shoulder slid. A hand pressed him back against the tree, Mugman’s back filling his vision for but a second.

“Then again, it’s much easier to knock a giant over.”

Goopy frowned, looking at the newcomer. He recognized the porcelain in front of him as the other’s sibling, but, there was something off. He bared his teeth in a foul smile, glove shifting loosely.

“I ain’t the one what decided blindly walkin into a battle you’re far outmatched in was a good idea ya teacup.”

“No no, I’m Mugman, _that’s_ Cuphead.  I don’t expect you to remember that though. Not with the whole ‘I keep losing to those fly eating hoppers Mr. Devil! Oh please give me _something_ to show ‘em what for! They’ll put me off the mortal coil at this rate’!”

Goopy reared back, something curling through him, something he hadn’t felt since running with a contract. It had been so long; he couldn’t even remember just what the feeling was. He chose to believe it was hatred or angry surprise. There was no one who should have known what the contract was for after all, no one else had been around to hear the deal happen.

“By the by, how’s that goin’ for you Le Grande? Based on what I’ve seen, I get the rather _terrible_ feeling you’ve wasted a perfectly good deal.”

The boxer, never one to let someone sass him, especially not a kid who decided to finally grow a back-bone after being a thorn in his side every time the red one fought him, threw his arm back.

“Oh?” The porcelain not even a quarter his size tipped his head to one side, straw sliding with the motion. The punch was thrown, and much to the amazement of both observer and antagonist, Mugman slid near effortlessly to the side, avoiding the punch smoothly.

“Strike one.” Hand alight with a bullet Cuphead knew well and good neither had, a fiery one that flickered gold and red, slithers of blue sometimes popping here or there within. It let off with a sharp crack, faster than Goopy could dodge. Cuphead’s bullets had been working, whittling away at Goopy’s body, leaving burned pieces to float around, solidifying the main body. The one Mugman fired off didn’t leave a body _to solidify_. Blue splattered behind Goopy as he flew into a flurry of curses, ooze sloughing down to repair the wound, his body shrinking in size.  Mugman, not done yet, started a steady pace towards Goopy, steps controlled, _predatory_.

Goopy, less blue and more white, leapt high. Mugman’s hand lit up once more, growing brighter in the shadow of Goopy’s form. Without the smoke bomb, Cuphead couldn’t wrap his mind how his brother moved so quickly. But he did, and Goopy landed uselessly on the grass.

“Strike two.”

Goopy’s face crunched in, agony making him writhe as another shot scattered chunks of him out.

 “You brat!” The blob screeched.

Cuphead couldn’t see his brother, Goopy blocked his view. But the laughter from Mugman following Goopy’s irate snap didn’t sound even _remotely_ right. By that point, he’d managed to sit up, feeling the glue solidifying into porcelain, sealing the cracks up in areas where the broken porcelain matched up. It wasn’t the least bit enough to get him to a standing condition but it was better than laying uselessly in the dirt.

“That it? That’s the only insult you’ve got? I was going to let you get in another hit, but _that_ has to be the most offensively pathetic thing I’ve heard. Here’s a tip Le Grande, when you see Devil, ask him what a proper insult sounds like.” Another crack, this one louder than the rest, went off. Goopy narrowly scrunched himself down, the point on his head disappearing instantly. The tree Cuphead leaned against happened to be in the line of fire, vaporizing on impact. Cupheads jaw relocated itself somewhere near the dirt, a new sort of horror rising in his chest. He _still_ couldn’t see his brother, Goopy, when his face would turn just enough to be seen, was twisted in panic, _in fear._ There was _nothing_ about his brother that should _ever_ warrant fear from anyone.

“Hey now,” Goopy tried, voice wobbling harder than his body as he struggled to dodge shots, never quite avoiding the vicious blasts. “There ain’t no need for all this here violence, just—” A bright shot tore through Goopy’s glove, shredding it into a cloud of fabric, burned beyond repair. Goopy became noticeably more terrified. Goopy wildly turned, rolling across the grass to get away from the small porcelain teen with hands coated in an inferno of fire waiting to be shot.

“But there is,” Cuphead forced his legs under him, pressing his palms into the dirt to stand, soul liquid racing through his rattling body. “I _hate cowards._ ” There was a final crack, Goopy’s panicked blabbering abruptly cut off. Before Cuphead could look up, he was showered with slime, as well as greenery that had taken the blow as well. The silence after everything settled only made Cuphead’s rattling more pronounced. He stared at the ground, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

Two boots came into his field of view, stained by blue and green, then a slip of paper was dropped by his hand.

“Ta da!”

Cuphead jerked his head up, and instead of steady, soft eyes, bright golden ones surrounding vivid red greeted him. Stared down at him with a lone arched brow.

“Mugman?”

His brother stood like a statue, unwaveringly reading whatever his face was showing. Cuphead blinked, and Mugman was crouched down, chin resting on the back of laced fingers, sharp grin stretching across his face.

“Almost correct, _brother._ ” The way he said brother left a sour taste in Cuphead’s mouth, and a heavy weight in his chest. The smile slid into a frown as unnatural eyes took in his state. Mugman, or whatever was wearing his face, sighed, head slowly rolling to a tilt as he continued to gaze at Cuphead through half lidded eyes. “Come now, I got the contract, didn’t I?” Though that sounded closer to Mugman, it wasn’t lessening the fear at all for Cuphead.

“What… Mugman what’s—”

“I got it! I know what’ll turn that frown upside down.” One gloved hand shot out, covering Cuphead’s mouth, followed by a burning sensation that sapped all strength from Cuphead’s already weak limbs. He would have crashed to the ground had it not been for whatever unnatural force blazing through him. By the time the feeling was gone, his body, fully repaired, felt like he’d just stuck himself in the oven for three hours. He barely registered the lingering heat, the pain, far too terrified for Mugman. Falling back, he reached up, holding Mugman’s face in his heavily rattling hands. The smile turned to a blank slate, not a hint of emotion aside from patience—albeit a tad sadistic.

“What happened? Goopy—”

“Isn’t dead if that’s what’s got you so huffy. The living embodiment of jelly gone wrong can’t die as long as he’s under contract. Which, by the by, might want to pick that up. It _is_ a piece of paper any stray breeze could pick up.”

“No! What’s with you? What...”

“Ohhhhh, oh!” Mugman giggled, the same old giggle he always had, covering his mouth loosely with one hand as mirth warmed his features. For just the briefest of seconds, a mere pulse of soul liquid, Cuphead felt relief. Then his head was being torn from his body, held so tightly he could hear the porcelain grind, a scant couple inches from wide, cruel eyes.

“You didn’t think this loan shark gig was your _only punishment, did you?!”_

Cuphead lost all color on his face, everything going numb.

“ _You sold our souls **brother** , consider **this** part two.”_ The thing possessing Mugman, whether that was his body or his appearance, dropped Cuphead’s head, letting it snap back to his body. “Now pick up the damn contract. You’ve got places to be and people to find.” The thing stood, twisting sharply on his heel and walking away, forcing Cuphead to scramble to his feet.

“What did you do to my brother?!” Cuphead cried, contract clenched tightly in his fist. His other hand was aglow, but the thing only spared it the briefest of glances.

“You fire at me, and it won’t be _me_ you hurt.” The thing rested a hand on one hip. “It’ll be your sweet baby brother who _oh so kindly_ agreed to my offer.”

“What?!”

The thing turned, a teary, worried expression replacing the cold amusement. Wringing hands tightly in the black fabric of a stained shirt, it was Mugman who looked back at him, tears building in his eyes.

“Brother won’t let me help, and he’ll break before we get off Isle one. I don’t want to see him die! Please, isn’t there anything I can do?”

The red returned, the gold flared up, and gone was Mugman. Shoulders shaking from barely suppressed snickers, the thing bat Mugman’s lashes at him, head tilted cutely.

“I wasn’t one for letting a stacked game fall too far to one side. Consider this the _one_ good thing to come out of your greedy mistake. If you don’t start walking, I’m just going to leave you and toss whatever contracts I get into the sea.”

Cuphead nearly tripped in his haste to get over to the other, fury taking over horror. At first, the other thought Cuphead was going to take a swing at him, instead, his wrist was snatched up and he himself almost tripped as the brother in red stormed out of the forest, heading towards the observatory.

If Mugman being possessed was the fault of the deal, that meant Cuphead needed to fix it. He needed to win, now more than ever. He’d get the contracts and _force_ whatever was taking over his brother _out._ And while he made his way to the next debtor, he’d take that time to truly realize what had happened to his brother.

====-====-====-====

Some mysterious entity had taken over Mugman.

Some mysterious entity had wiped the floor with Goopy le Grande, repaired him, mocked him, and then done nothing else.

Some mysterious entity was—at the moment—watching Cuphead get the tar kicked out of him by a giant flower.

Hilda Berg had been easier in that he’d be far better at maneuvering a plane. It had only taken him two tries to best her and retrieve her contract. Unlike Goopy, she was left in one piece, groaning on the roof of the observatory. Even though the thing had told him Goopy wasn’t dead, it was hard to believe.

Though, if there was one good thing about fighting Hilda, it was after the fight, he’d landed on the observatory, letting his plane soar off into the horizon. Hilda may have shot him a dirty look, but she must have seen something on his face to hold off any snide or bitter remarks.

“Hey, you’re old right?”

“Wow. You get all the girls in grade school falling head over heels for you?” Hilda spoke deadpan, wearing an expression to match, even if the rest of her was limp with exhaustion.

“No. But, you’re old, so you know things, right?” She squinted at him then, one singed brow rising to her hair line.

“Just spit it out tiny, I hurt, and talking to the tyke that kicked your ass isn’t exactly _fun._ ”

“You started it, first of all. Second, how do you get someone…not possessed?” His eyes flit to his brother who sat in a chair, reclining with a book in hand, not paying attention to them at all. Hilda hefted her upper body up onto her elbows to look down as well, now fully invested.

“That why you’re doing this?” She gestured to her contract still tightly held in his hand. He scratched the back of his head, under his handle, nervously wincing.

“Sort of? Look, do—”

“Do you know who it is?”

“Who?”

“The thing possessing him. You’ll get nowhere without knowing that. I suggest you find a book or something on them, and hope it ain’t ol’ scratch himself.” Then, ignoring anything else he asked, she went back down and theatrically pretended to sleep. He huffed, but it was better than nothing, and he had just knocked her around bad, so he left.

Now, he was trying for the fifth attempt at beating Cagney, and it wasn’t going well. Even Cagney was starting to get bored. By this point, he just rested on one elbow, chin in palm, a sort of glazed look in his eye.

“You know,” the thing started, voice casual. “You could try _not_ being absolute shit at dodging. Did that ever cross your mind?” He flipped a page in his book, something Cuphead _still_ hadn’t figured out where he’d gotten it from. Cuphead glared about as best he could, sill laying awkwardly on the ground where he’d landed. Though his cracks were repaired by ‘Mugman’ every time, it still rankled to hear someone else not only curse in his brother’s voice, but mock him as well. Repairs or no, he wasn’t even remotely happy about his current situation. He didn’t want to imagine what Mugman was going through.

“How about you get in there then?” He snapped, pushing up off the ground so he could dust off his shirt and shorts. The other snorted.

“Ah ah, that isn’t what you told Mugman before~.” He sing-songed, but even as he teased, the book was summarily snapped shut, and he sat up from his reclining position against a fence post. “Cuphead, he’s a flower. I thought the universal weakness for plants was, well, universally known.”

“Shears?”

“Well, you aren’t wrong…” The thing paused, tilting his head up in thought.

“Nah, nothing big enough. At least,” it eyed their arms, frown etched on borrowed features. “Nothing we could carry. Look, just get a match and set him on fire! One and done.”

“Brilliant.” Cuphead spoke with a voice about as dead as his tolerance for the thing. “Hey, did you maybe stop and think setting a _giant flower_ on fire would be a bad idea because, oh I don’t know, the entire isle would go up?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, its’ either that, or you keep trying until you run out of time.” The thing shrugged, uncaring of whatever option Cuphead ultimately decided on. Cuphead, not really feeling like murdering someone over a piece of paper, decided to hold off on fighting Cagney for now. He’d spied a mausoleum earlier, at the very least, he could have a peaceful place to take a breather before heading back. The fact that Cagney laughed at him as he left just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Cagney thought it was hilarious that the tyke was finally giving up. He didn’t much care for the reasoning behind the sudden demands for his contract, but the audacity was enough for him to throw peaceful options to the wind. So, he laughed at the kid. Or, he _did._ Laughter caught in his throat as two bright eyes scorched straight into his soul, vows of an agonizing death near screaming in that malicious stare. The blue child scoffed, rolling his eyes as Cagney continued coughing on his own spit, having inhaled at the wrong time.

It was right about the time the child tapped his chin with a hand wreathed in unnatural fire that Cagney realized he was probably far luckier than he thought with who decided to fight him. Before the other one in red could get too far, the blue one turned away, wicked grin curling what should have been a sweet face—following behind at a sedate pace.

====-====-=====-====

On one hand, angry ghosts being raging jerks and ruining one of the few peaceful places on Isle one. On the other, Cuphead was getting a ton of practice with dodging, diving, reacting. While he wanted to be mad, he could tell, the more he fought, the better he got. The ghosts kept coming, fewer than before, some faster, some slower. He powered through them, soul liquid racing through his body, a facsimile of adrenaline pouring across his soul. Mugman waited by the entrance, notably, no ghosts went anywhere near him. Unnatural eyes followed him, unreadable, but not hostile or cold. Just, observing quietly.

Finally, the last ghost wandered out, realized it had made a terrible mistake, and was promptly smacked into the marble floor. Cuphead landed, staggering a bit. He wasn’t used to moving so much, so fast, so intensely, for so long. Mugman caught him, and it was only because those were his brother’s hands still that he didn’t smack them away. Mugman didn’t show any signs that he cared how fast Cuphead pulled away far more focused n the vase that now rattled and shook.

A wash of golden light bathed over the room as the woman who’d been trapped emerged. She beamed merrily down at them, mouth open to thank them for helping. The praise came heavy, she cooed at them, offered up some power she’d discovered during her travels, and hurried off, tossing ‘If I find more I’ll be sure to find you boys!’ behind her.

Cuphead, feeling the strange new power roll through him, as if surveying what it had to work with. It felt odd, making him shudder and wince. Mugman stared at his hands, still as a statue. Stared with soft, warm eyes he’d always had. Cuphead no longer cared about the odd feeling. If Chalice had purged that thing from Mugman, he’d do whatever she asked him to do for the rest of his _life._ But, with but a blink, the unnatural eyes were back, and the hands were alight with what could only be an upgraded version of the original shot. Still though, the other didn’t react beyond that, as if contemplative. Cuphead bit back the angry, choking sensation in his chest, let determination take over instead. He snatched Mugman’s wrist up, full up of new energy, ready to take down Cagney.

Mugman followed behind, looking at the hand clenched around his wrist, a glitter of amusement sparkling in his eye.

====-====-====-====

Determination or not, Cagney was _still_ difficult. Cuphead dug his fingers into the fence. Hauling himself up so he could get back into the fight, a hand pressed down on his shoulder. Leg already cracked, Cuphead pitched to the side. The repairs scorched a trail through him, but his focus was on the frail back in his vision.

“Keep laughing petals, I’m your opponent now.”

Cagney scowled, heavy hands digging nails into the ground as the flower took in his new opponent.  It was still someone made of porcelain, fragile, breakable porcelain. But the fire, and the way not a single ounce of kindness, mercy, or anything that would make Cagney believe this one was any level as soft as the other appeared, made his roots curl. Threat or no, he wasn’t going to give up, so, the ground shifted, and the fight began anew.

The red cup had been good, if Cagney felt like being nice. He was fast, nimble, and sharp-eyed, spotting attacks just in the nick of time. But Cagney was faster, so it was only a matter of time before the other lost. This one? No such weaknesses. Though at times he’d jerk as if forgetting he was controlling his own body, limbs moving unnaturally just for a second, it only served to make Cagney more and more unnerved.

The eyes too, constantly watching him, seeing what he was going to do before he fully did it. They _blazed_ , incinerating what his super-heated shots didn’t. His hands were heavily roasted from numerous swift actions to block the rapid-fire shots. Cagney got the sinking feeling he was being toyed with, and the only reason he wasn’t already ablaze was the fact that the other seemed to be concentrating just as much on moving as firing at him. Enough was enough. He wasn’t confident he was going to win, and the thought of burning alive was beyond unappealing.  

A tiny piece of him, his pride most likely, searched for something, _anything_ that would turn the tide in his favor. That piece spotted the red figure leaning on the fence, still close enough for his vines to reach. Whatever plans he had for winning switched tracks.

A low hum filled the air, deep, cutting straight through to his roots. Vines, scant millimeters from the surface, ceased all movement. Fire lapped at his face as the child that had been using a tree as his main means of leaping higher, clenched blazing fists in his petals, boots using the bottom row under his chin as a solid surface. Far smaller, practically ant like to his size, the child held the flower deceptively gently.

“ _Don’t.”_ The warning, just as low as the hum, held leagues more loathing in it than any child had any right to. “Either give me your contract or _burn._ Decide. **Now.** ” Something ancient was the thing holding his life in small hands. Something with zero forgiveness, something that _knew_ what he’d been thinking.  Fire began to creep through his petals, smoke wreathed around the tiny figure. Cagney’s eyes watered, he shut them, mind roaring for ideas on how to get out of this.

Then, the weight, barely there as is, was gone. He coughed slapping a hand against his face, letting the sap pouring from his palms stifle the flashes of fire curling up his face.

“I’d say thanks, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

Peeking out with one clear eye, he felt a groan of horrified confusion build in his stem. The child held his contract up, waving it teasingly at him, all the way back near the fence. But the fire, even stifled from oxygen, continued to burn. Cagney, the beginnings of pain ripping through his entire body, just slumped down, conceding defeat.

As the two walked away, the fire burned just long enough to make him sick with terror, tearing through one of his eyes before vanishing as fast as it came. The relief wouldn’t overpower the pain, and he’d stay slumped over for as long as it took his body to heal.

He pitied the red cup. Whatever had taken over the blue kid he’d seen before—usually docile, trotting behind the one in red, wasn’t something he’d wish on _anyone._

====-=====-===-=====

Cuphead stared up at the die house, before, hoping to see if he could get the easiest ones done first, he’d been kicked from the new blockade. King Dice outright laughed at him before, shooing him back to Isle one. Now though, with all contracts in hand, he was sure a repeat would not happen.

He was right too, the door opened easily enough, but instead of a smug, smarmy manager, King Dice looked just as tired as he felt. The manager, back straight, exhausted lines etched in his slumped shoulders and far too stiff face, took in his and Mugman’s appearance. At first, it looked as if he was about to make a crack about how it had taken them somewhere around four hours to take down Isle one. But, Cuphead wasn’t sure what changed. King Dice’s jaw clicked shut, disbelief painted transparently on the man Cuphead hadn’t ever seen look anything other than ‘laughing at everything for being so beneath him’. The purple die opened his mouth again, and movement out the corner of his eye clued him in to what that change was.

Mugman, the thing possessing him, shushed King Dice, pressing an index finger to lips struggling to not break into a grin.

“You—”

“I’m playing a game, manager. Don’t ruin it for me.” The thing interrupted, a chipper—if mysterious—lilt to the borrowed voice. Cuphead reared up to his full height. King Dice frowned deeply.

“You know what’s gotten into my brother?” The red cup asked, just about warping over to King Dice. The manager jerked back, as if a mud-covered disease-ridden pigeon had just sprung from the ground by the pristine pant legs.

“Of course I do!” King Dice sounded both offended and annoyed, lips curling up at the very sight of the boy. “He’s the reason the casino has gone wild! Do you have any idea—”

“King Dice. Boss might like you, but _I’m indifferent. Do not ruin my fun.”_ ‘Mugman’s tone was dead, barren of everything, but the low note, the humming that had returned, all of it had King Dice hastily coughing into one gloved hand.

“Just get out of here, get the damn contracts, or give up. I don’t care. He can deal with you when the kid fails.” A moment of pause, a breath, and King Dice descended into a portal beneath his feet, beating a hasty retreat. Cuphead whirled around on his heel, ire growing more at the innocent blink the other gave him. He stomped up to his possessed brother, face tinged red with indignation.

“I’m on to you, you…whatever you are. Don’t get cozy in there. I’m gonna find out what you are and how to get you out if it means going back to that gaudy waste of building materials and demanding that furry angel reject remove you.” He hissed, sticking a finger at his brother’s face, nose to nose. The other blinked slowly, mulling over his words, and, just shrugged.

“Sure, do whatever you think works. It’s not my soul at risk after all.” With that deceptively light statement, Mugman side stepped around Cuphead, going for the door. “I, however, want to get this nasty bit of business taken care of, so if we could just—oh okay.” Cuphead snarled, hauling his sibling out of the house, soul liquid boiling in his head.

====-=====-====-====

“Imp.”

“No.”

“Skeleton.”

“Why… no.”

“Manticore.”

“Wow no. that’s the furthest yet.”

“Further than the skeleton?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…” Cuphead narrowed his eyes at the highly amused thing across from him. They’d sat at a table in the carnival. Cuphead claimed it was to scope out the targets. Mugman smiled in a way that told Cuphead he wasn’t fooled, but went with it. After picking a stranger’s bag, snatching a book of demons and other such creatures from hell, Cuphead had started reading from it. He’d listed some things the other evidently hadn’t even heard of, but all the same, the thing was playing along.

“Okay, demons then…”

Mugman’s brows rose high, and he rested his chin on his palm, elbow on the table, the picture of relaxed.

“If I say their names, that’s not gonna call them up or something, is it?”

“Not unless you’ve got a sacrifice for them.”

“Do I?”

“No.”

Really, Cuphead picked random names, things that looked—well, plausible.

“Baphomet.”

“Hell no.”

“Azazel?”

“That crybaby? Kid would have boot him out loooong ago. No.”

“Gi… Gih… I, uh, I can’t pronounce this one.”

“Lemme see… what…that’s not even how it’s spelled. What is this thing?” Mugman pulled the book from him, flipping through rapidly, morbid amusement lighting unnatural eyes up with mirth the more he went through the pages.

“Satan?”

“If I was, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now. You’d be burying your dead brother. He’s atrocious at possessions, doesn’t get the finesse of them at all.”

Cuphead tossed his hands in the air, giving up. Nothing else came to mind and based on the snickers and giggles rolling steadily from his possessed brother, that book was useless. Slumping in his seat, he rolled his head, straw sliding along the rim. Once it was going steady, he stopped, and when the straw finally settled, pointed at the candy house, he got back out of the seat. Mugman tossed the book carelessly behind him, not that Cuphead didn’t notice how the book nailed the person he’d swiped it from in the head. But if that had been the things intention, it wasn’t clear.

===-===-====-====

Cuphead never thought he’d ever be in a firefight. Not only because Inkwell didn’t have that sort of thing, but also because he was porcelain, and porcelain generally avoided truly stupid things like walking into hostile territory and tactlessly asking for unholy contracts.

“This is why you get your ass beat so much.” Mugman informed him as he hid behind a thick wall of sugar. Cuphead grumbled.

“Either help or get out. I don’t wanna have to worry about Mugs being caught in the crossfire because you decided watching me get knocked around was better.”

The way Mugman frowned wasn’t necessarily terrifying. Should the Baroness have seen it, she’d have assumed it was just a child mildly displeased with something. But Cuphead was good at reading his brother’s face, possessed or no. That frown was not of someone mildly displeased, it was a dangerous warning Cuphead was stepping on a line.

“Don’t take your anger out on me, you won’t like what I do.” Cuphead shuddered, fear curling low in his chest. Mugman dropped to his knees next to him, kneeling so they were face to face. “Try _thinking._ She’s got plenty of weaknesses, you just aren’t using them.” The cup in red frowned, listening as the gunfire continued to eat into their current shield. He’d taken out a few of those she sent out, but that had only served to anger her and he’d been forced to duck behind the closest thing he could find that had a chance of standing up to her barrage.

Her barrage, that paused every once in a while. Mugman must have seen the idea catch in his head, because not a breath after Cuphead lit up the new charge shot he got from Porkrind, Mugman followed suit with his own.

“Lead the way, Cuphead.”

====-====-====-=====

As soon as they were heading past the die house to get to the Ferris wheel, Elder Kettle was on them. He whistled with every heavy breath, evidence of his having run all the way from Isle one. Though, how he got through the die house, Cuphead didn’t know. If King Dice was only gate-keeping for them he was going to be _upset._

“There you are boys! I’ve been looking for you two. I’ve been scrounging around see, and I think I might have an idea on how you can still manage to get out of this mess.”

“What do you mean?” Cuphead was getting tired of that burst of hope he got any time Mugman looked and sounded like _Mugman._ He wondered why the thing would play pretend whenever someone like Chalice or Elder Kettle were around.

“See now, you boys are getting stronger and stronger the longer you go on. Why, I bet you’ll be strong enough to take on that no-good King Dice, and maybe even the Devil himself!”

“Gee Elder Kettle, maybe you shouldn’t say that so close to the die house?” Mugman nervously flicked his eyes up towards the building, searching for movement in the windows. Elder Kettle paused, turned to look at the building, and let off an embarrassed whistle.

“I didn’t see anyone when I ran through there, so I’m sure he didn’t hear it. Either way, you’ve got to get the rest of those contracts in your hands if you’re going to have a chance at beating that fiend.”

“Oh yes, a fiendish fiend who fiends… That’s Devil…” Mugman shook his head, a huff of laughter. Elder Kettle chuckled, patting the two on their heads. Tiredly, no longer in a rush, their caretaker shuffled off, creaking with each step. Once he was far enough, the thing returned, bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Fiend? Who even says that anymore?” He got out in-between pieces of laughter. Cuphead rolled his eyes, covering a laugh of his own by pretending to cough. Then again, if what Elder Kettle said was true, Cuphead had hope. There was a chance even Elder Kettle could see for him to fix it all. Granted, he said it right in front of whatever hell creature decided to set up shop in his brother, but, he wasn’t running off to go snitch to Devil. That alone put doubts into his head that it could be some regular old lackey of Devils. Surely any working for him would have gotten angry that someone would boldly talk about breaking a contract. ‘Mugman’ however, was jut amused, cheerful even. Cuphead wondered if he’d ever understand the method to the things lunacy. If he didn’t, he supposed that just meant he’d done what any good brother should. Ridding their siblings of demonic entities.

He turned, looking up at the roller coaster they knew Beppi was on. Though it was getting dark, there was plenty of light from the numerous strings strewn about the carnival. Dark skies also meant he was running out of precious time, and, with that in mind, he hastily went for the next fight.

====-====-====-====

“Boy, Beppi sure doesn’t _clown_ around. He’s _on-track_ to ruin you at this rate. These fights are a real _roller coaster_ of crazy.”

Cuphead thunked his head on the floor repeatedly, even more annoyed at the familiar squeaking laugh Beppi had. Mugman watched him, lips curled in delight.

“Don’t side with him you traitor.” Cuphead, voice muffled by the floor, half-hearted waved one hand, smacking his brother on the leg weakly, too tired to do anything else.

“Why don’t you take a break? It isn’t like he’s going to float away or something. None of them think you’re threatening enough to run away so you can take a power nap. No one will judge.”

“I will!”

A crack, a squeaky scream, and much flailing that sounded like someone rubbing a bunch of balloons together later, Cuphead was fighting both exhaustion and laughter. It was hard, _so hard_ , to truly loathe the thing in his brother when he did stuff like that. Especially when Cuphead knew that was the sort of thing his brother would do if he was just a hint less of a pacifist.

“Please, brother?” Soft, pleading and _warm._

“Don’t you use my brother against me.” Cuphead snapped, lacking much of his bite simply from how his body kept demanding he lay still and _rest._ Even as he said that he sat up, shooting one last up at the roller coaster decorated with patches of where a battle had taken place. The other didn’t respond, quietly following him to the fountain towards the back of the carnival. It was isolated there, most of the crowd avoiding the area due to the man in the waters. To Cuphead, that was the best place he’d find on short notice. Too afraid that going back home would mean the manager would demand some other stupid thing before he could return to Isle Two, he leaned on a pillar.

Head resting on his lap, he let his heavy lids finally close over his eyes, hardly caring about the soft footsteps, the even softer voices, or the eventual addition of familiar weight against his shoulder.

“Sweet dreams big brother.”

====-====-====-====

It was still night when Cuphead awoke, feeling far more rested. The aches in his body were gone, replaced by a near overflowing amount of energy. He put his head back in place, trying not to move his arm too much what with his brother draped against him, still deep in sleep. Memories still filtering in, he yawned, shifting enough to get Mugman to rest against the pillar instead of him. Stretching out legs that didn’t really need it—no muscles meant no true fatigue, but the energy his soul liquid gave to keep him up and running gave a similar effect when it started to run low—he chose to leave Mugman there.

In a way, he hoped his brother would stay asleep for however long it took him to get done with most of the fighting. That way there’d be no reason for that thing to have a laugh at his expense or put Mugman into danger needlessly.

Even with that in mind, he kept his hopes low to that being the case. However many debtors he could beat before the other woke up, Cuphead would take as a win. Keeping his steps light, he backed off, sure that none would bother a sleeping teen as peaceful looking as Mugman. Turning once far enough, he broke into a jog, heading for the clown.

====-====-====-====

Right about the fifth time Cuphead easily dodged a feather flung from Wally, he started to think he’d just been tired when fighting the debtors before. Beppi had gone from too quick for him to follow to a fun game of target practice. Sure, he hadn’t expected the giant version of Beppi to show up, but all the same, the clown fell to his nimble-footed, aggressive methods, weakly waving his contract as a sign of defeat. Wally too, was easy. More so because he was in the plane again. When he was younger, he’d dreamed of getting to soar through the air.

Sure, he hadn’t really expected to be avoiding a _very_ angry bird and son, but all the same, it was fun. He was having actual fun. To a degree, as the plane moved to land, Wally’s contract tucked tightly under his shirt, he could almost forget he had a possessed brother whose soul was on the line just the same as his.

Djimmi tried breaking out a weird puppet, and sure, if it had looked more like Mugman, he’d have been hesitant to open fire. There were enough pieces of it that looked like Cuphead that allowed him to spitefully tear the puppet apart. It was a bit weird to hear Djimmi awkwardly cough something about ‘repressed anger issues’, but sure enough, three contracts were in his hands before the thing found him.

====-====-====-====

Just about prancing out of the pyramid, head held high, Cuphead was geared up to take on the next debtor.  With things going well, he was making far better time than before, and only getting faster and more nimble. So eager to get to Grim Matchstick, he ran right past the mausoleum etched into the mountainside. Pausing, because he realized exactly what he’d done, he ran back, cleared the place out, was given another upgrade, told Mugman got it as well despite not being there, due to being connected to Cuphead by means he didn’t really understand but were definitely magical in nature. Which, to him, meant Mugman was likely awake. At the rate he was going, Cuphead had high hopes he would be able to get back to Mugman and the thing, present the contracts, and perhaps shoo it away. 

Remembering what it had said early on, how Mugman had outright given in out of worry for him. He had the idea, even if it was a cobbled together idea, that perhaps showing off he wasn’t as weak as before would make Mugman fend it off, purge it. It was worth a shot at least. Cuphead would try just about anything at that point to get Mugman free.

====-===-====-====

Ascending the tower quickly did take some of his energy, something he needed to be at the top of his game, but it wasn’t enough to cause any worry. He’d been worse off earlier when first fighting Beppi. Throwing open the door, he opened his mouth to call out for Grim, except Grim was already in the tower.

Grim was already in the tower, sipping tea out of a bucket, with his brother perched on his tail that was curled around so the two could face one another. Tucked visibly in a pocket sat the contract, and the two chatted amiably away. Grim’s ear flicked in Cuphead’s direction, reptilian eyes tossing a glance his way before returning to Mugman, who must have just finished telling some sort of cute story based on the ‘awww’ from Grim.

“Mugs?” Cuphead was confused, sure there’d been no way such a deep sleeper like Mugman could have woken up so quickly after he’d left. Especially with nothing to wake him.

“Pardon me Mr. Matchstick, it seems we’ll have to cut this short.” His brother, and that _was_ his brother, the exact voice, the manner of speaking, of ducking his head apologetically, with big doe eyes sweet as sugar. Grim cheerfully waved him off, big ol’ dopey smile on his face.

“It was awful nice meeting ya! Good luck getting the rest of those things!”

“Thank you!”

Cuphead watched, porcelain face locked in a blank, empty half smile, as the thing gave a little wave to a debtor with three heads and teeth as big as Mugman’s entire arm, trot over to him, spun him around, and ushered him down the stairs.

====-====-====-====

“What if he got hurt?!”

“I’m offended you think so little of my fighting capabilities.”

“Ask me if I care! Grim could have eaten my baby brother and i-“

“One year difference does not a baby brother make.”

“I swear the second you stop hiding behind him I’m gonna see just how good I’m getting at beating things into the dirt.”

“That implies you could actually do that to me. I don’t hate to tell you but that’s impossible. The enthusiasm’s great though! Don’t go losing that Cuphead. You’ll need it for whatever horrible decision you inevitably make in the casino.”

King Dice silently watched them argue, fervently wishing Devil had actually let him speak before running into the lower depths of Hell searching for his missing partner in crime in terms of Hell related matters. Then again, if the kids survived enough to get to the casino, it would be pretty hilarious to see Devil’s reaction. Not that he had much hope for that. Oh, the blue one would definitely make it, there’s no way he wouldn’t simply because the thing in him was far too good at what it did. He could likely sweep the debtors faster than the red one could even understand if it came to fighting. But, because it had a certain way of doing possessions, it was likely they’d arrive by the early evening at the earliest. He had plenty of time to set up the stage.

If the red one didn’t break from the sheer force of his ire or the blue one didn’t bury his brother’s head out of frustration. Either or.

====-====-====-====

“Okay who’s first?”

“First, you’re going to sit on that bench, and not move, while I take care of my mistake.”

“Hey, perusing through these memories, I can’t help but notice many times you just shoved things under the rug.”

“Hey!”

“Oh wow, broke Mugman’s favorite toy and pretended you didn’t. That’s cold Cuphead, real cold.”

“What? How would he know?”

“There are these fancy things on his face called eyes. They see things Cuphead. Many things. Like the time you lost a fight to a butterfly.”

Cuphead, porcelain blooming a vivid red, shoved his possessed, shaking with laughter, sibling onto a bench outside the ritzy building Rumor resided in. As he bolted for the door, his brother’s laughter rang out cheerfully. The red on his face didn’t die off until the fighting began.

====-====-====-====

“This yours?” A bee held a limp cup by one arm, the body dangling a few inches from the ground, a severely cracked face was held in the other hand by the bottom as the handle was held together by what could only be hopes and dreams. Mugman nodded, closing the book smoothly, taking the limp body first to rest it comfortably on the bench, then taking the head, observing the broken mess it was. Honey appeared to be one of the only other reasons it was sticking together.

“Little brat came running in demanding our Queen hand over a contract, how’s about you be a good family member or friend and keep the tea set kitchenware out of trouble.”

“Oh dear me,” The cracks began to vanish, slowly repaired by arcane magic soothing the other into a more relaxed rest rather than the porcelain equivalent of an emergency shut down. “I do apologize, is the Queen faring well?” Mugman rested Cuphead’s head properly on his body’s lap, sheepishly peeking up at the bee who seemed just a hint less hostile in the face of someone clearly harmless.

“Scared her something fierce, but we took care of it. Just—”

“Goodness, well I, hm…” Mugman, tapping one finger on the tip of his nose, contemplative frown on display, hummed a bit in thought. “I can’t just wander off without apologizing to her for my brother’s rashness. Would you be so kind as to allow me to at least offer one to her?” He clasped his hands together, doe eyes near shining with earnest—if a bit bashful—intent. The bee visibly weighed the request, hemming and hawing a bit, but ultimately caved under the impressively sweet look the little teen had. Besides, the bee thought, the child couldn’t be any worse than his brother, and they’d handled him just fine.

“Sure thing kid.” He nodded, gently nudging the child towards the doors of the high-rise. Momentarily stunned by a particularly beaming smile radiating so much adorable sincerity, he failed to see how the cracks on the other just about vanished within seconds what should have taken hours.

“Thanks mister!”

“Aww.”

The doors opened, the frazzled secretary hardly spared them a glance, and Rumor, hearing her name called, descended the stairs.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead groaned, hands instinctively moving his head from his lap to his shoulders. Soul liquid ringing, it was a struggle to get his eyes open enough to see the street swim into an understandable state. He pulled his knees up, body strained as soul liquid flowed through pieces of porcelain still freshly repaired. Weakly squinting out into the street, he tried to remember just what he had been doing before fainting, only coming up with a lot of yellow and black for an answer.

Crunched in as he was, when a massive shattering noise cracked out into the town, he thought it was his body at first. He thought it was his limbs showing him exactly how dumb it was to move at his current state.

Then the equally large body of Rumor Honeybottoms slammed into the road a few yards from him, and he wasn’t thinking about how creaky his body was. Eyes wide, he watched her groan, pitiful wheezes rattling out of strained lungs. The building she came from audibly buzzed; screams and sharp bangs popping here or there in a steady pace lower and lower as something Cuphead hoped wasn’t there descended from within.  Rumor let out a noise of distress as one of the blue-dressed bees came flying out of the windows like she had, a beam of bright, unholy light dying out as he soared past clear to the ocean.

She heaved herself onto her side, wings shredded beyond saving, two of her arms broken visibly. Spitting out great globs of what he hoped was honey, despite it being tinged a deep red, she coughed and grit her teeth. The doors to the building were blown off, forcing her to hold one arm in front of her face to shield it. Cuphead dove behind the bench, narrowly avoiding a shard of glass that embedded itself into the wood where he previously sat.

“Honey, I told you not to call me doll again! Not my fault you didn’t listen, now about that contract of yours.” The thing, Mugman, wreathed in the unnatural flames from his shot humming in his hands, stepped out into the street, splashes of honey and whatever else decorating previously pristine clothing. Smoke or steam from overheated honey danced around his frame, eyes casting an unholy glow. Cuphead was close enough to hear the bitten back sob she let off, and see her struggle to reach for what he hoped was the contract. Instead it appeared to be a staff or wand of some sort, and ‘Mugman’ clicked his tongue, mockingly disappointed, as evidence by the little ‘tut tut’ and the slow shake of a dipped head.

“Rumor has it you’re a smart businesswoman. Tasting your honey, I have to believe that to be true. Shit tastes like stuff you’d find in dumpsters compared to the stuff I’ve had before. There’s little way you could afford this place without some business sense. So I’m surprised to see you not understanding a failed deal when you see it.” The thing wasn’t even pretending to speak like Mugman. Such a normally docile voice, usually smooth and warm and relaxing, harsh with wrath Cuphead was sure his brother had no ability to even feel at such intensity, scared him. It was like Goopy, but infinitely worse. Rumor was in such a horrible state, the staff just clattered to the floor, magic that had built up, however little, dissipated into the air harmlessly.

She cursed at him, but didn’t move for the weapon, just weakly striking out at him with one hand that was promptly shot clean off. She writhed, screaming into the road below her.

“That’s nice, really it is, but Rumor,” ‘Mugman’ leaned against something Cuphead couldn’t see, shoulder visibly pressed against the air. “I’ll give you one more out, you can thank me later for this. Either your contract goes into my hand, or I turn your head into a fine mist. Either you meet the Devil in a few hours, or right now. You have five seconds.” She hissed at him, fear radiating off of her in waves. Letting the only other working arm on the side free from her weight dig around her dress pockets, she managed to pull the contract free by ‘three’. She dropped it at his feet by ‘one’, and let her head fall to the ground.

“Thank you!” The abrupt shift from outright horrifying to saccharine sweet was what ultimately broke Cuphead from his trance. He shot over the bench, rushing over to the figure plucking the contract from the ground. Briefly, he caught sight of a flash of red beside his sibling, but it was gone before he could so much as spare a thought to it.

“Just what did-“

“ _Zip your ceramic lip you mortal brat before I glue it shut._ ”

Cuphead staggered, stumbling to a stop a few feet from a near glacial Mugman. Fury colder than ice sent a bolt of dread down Cuphead’s spine. The thing _glared_ at him, warnings blaring for Cuphead to do as told lest he find out just what sort of power those still burning hands held. His teeth clicked, heard even by those nearby as the red cup snapped his mouth shut, tense form rattling.

“I have the contract now; we should get moving _brother._ ” The word was said with such vitriol it physically hurt Cuphead to hear. He nodded once, jerkily, digging shaking fists into his pockets as the other lead the way to the junkyard. Behind them, Rumor was swarmed by her workers, bitter tears dripping to the asphalt below her bowed head.

====-====-=====-====

‘Mugman’ didn’t do anything when Cuphead quietly waved towards the two planes sitting at the ready for them. He just plopped down into a nearby chair, pulled a slightly sticky book from a pocket, and started reading. Taking that as his cue to get into the fight himself, he did. Shaken as he was, it was five tries before he got the robot’s contract. In all that time, the tiny figure of his brother far below never moved, only healing him if he came close enough while running for another plane. Otherwise, he just reclined, lazily reading all while the fight warred on above him.

Cuphead wondered if he did it because Mugman was trying to fight back against the control while the other was weak from using a lot of power. He wondered if it was just a way of sticking it to him for all the times he’d told Mugman to sit and watch him get kicked around. He was far too afraid to ask, whether it was because the thing might get angry enough to raise those charged shots at him or what the answer would be. He just displayed the contract, pristine despite being in the robot’s face during the entire fight, and waited for the other to stand up. Getting an expectant look, he took it as a sign that he was to lead the way He did so, aiming for the little house Werner was at.

Yet again, the other seemed content to sit on the sidelines. Only lightly chuckling when Werner asked whether he’d be joining the beat-down Cuphead was absolutely going to receive. Cuphead did indeed get knocked around, but he was faster, stronger, making full use of the things he had to deal solid damage. The cat was shocking. But compared to Kahl’s robot, it was near pathetically easy to evade and dismantle.

When the cracks healed were minimal at worst, ‘Mugman’ appeared chipper, a skip in his step as they went back to the docks, only pausing at Porkrind’s to get more shots.

“Wait, you mean those shots you have aren’t part of the deal?”

“No? Elder Kettle gave us a potion and we just bought the upgrades from Porkrind.”

The shopkeeper waved, the possessed teen blinked a couple times, comical levels of ‘did I just hear what I think I did?’ dripping from him.

“I can’t believe your store-bought supernatural magic is kicking the ass of every debtor’s contracted magic. I can’t believe your shots are store-bought.”

“Well they are. I’ll admit making a deal for something like all the money in the casino is actually pretty lame compared to whatever the giant robot probably got, but hey.”

“You aren’t wrong, how do you even know what sort of money that was? What if it was a couple of coins? What if he had exactly one coin in the building, and all his wealth just in a pile outside the casino next to the trash cans. You’d have just gotten the one coin.”

“…oh son of a—”

“Ah! Language!”

“You don’t get to scold me!”

====-====-====-====

Tension broken just enough for shaky banter, Cuphead went back to listing anything and everything he could recall books or the radio mentioning. Or that one loud guy that stood on the streets proclaiming all who entered the casino were bound for hell. The one who they passed.

Ever since some broom had retorted with ‘no shit moron, that’s where the casino _is_ ’, the guy had taken to waving a cross at any who passed. A cross that the man put down for a healthy second, and found missing the next as two teens strode by, wooden goal lying ahead. Cuphead twisted it in his hand, looking at the piece of metal curiously. Turning to Mugman, he mimicked the man and shoved the thing in his brother’s face. His brother, the thing inside, furrowed borrowed brows, looking between him, the street ahead, and the cross.

He then took it from Cuphead, and popped it in his mouth as if it was candy that had been offered up.

There was a heartbeat of shocked silence, then shouting.

“Spit it out! Spit that out now! We can’t eat metal!”

“Then why did you put it in my face?”

“I was curious! Spit that out now! Mugs hates going to the dentist!”

“Why a couple of porcelain kids gotta go to a dentist? Just crack out the tooth and glue in a new one!”

“That is horrible! You’re horrible! _No don’t bite down!”_

====-====-====-====

“Shit that’s an angry ship.”

“Please stop cursing in my brother’s voice, it’s weird.”

“Pfft, you call that cursing? Hang on. Hey Brineybeard! Nice ship! You get the wood to build it from the filthiest brothel you could find or did you scrap together a bunch of drift wood!”

“ _What?! You fu—”_

The rant that followed as ‘Mugman’ stood, hands resting behind his back, satisfied smile peppy, eyes half-lidded, was so vile, so intense, Cuphead found himself at a loss for words for a solid minute.

“Haha,” ‘Mugman’ chuckled, loose fist covering the wide smile. “I’ll remember that when we’re stuffing that boat down your throat piece by piece in hell!”

“ _Fuck!”_

====-====-====-====

Brineybeard was difficult. The ship terrifying him right up until—in response to being told the ship’s sharp teeth freaked him out—‘Mugman’ gave an open grin, teeth no longer smooth and flat but razor-sharp points. Cuphead had promptly gone from red to green, but, ultimately managed to best the pirate. When he returned to Mugman, he was met with an angelic, smooth smile and a “Good job Cuphead!”

Cuphead didn’t doubt that was done to show off the now normal teeth. He grumbled about punching the teeth from whatever the thing controlling his brother was. That was met with cheery laughter. It did not make Cuphead feel any better.

====-====-====-====

Dreading coming after Cala Maria, even before all the debt collecting started, those on the Isle knew about Cala Maria, stories about her varying from sweet acts of kindness for lost sailors to horror stories Elder Kettle got mad at others for telling his boys, they went up to the mausoleum. The ghosts once more acted as training instead of challenge. Chalice once more cooed at them, granted them gifts, wished them luck, and vanished.

Phantom Express was just as nerve wracking as Cala Maria, so it was Sally Stageplay they went after next. Or rather, Cuphead did. Mugman just read his book from the seats, putting it down in his lap to clap absent-mindedly after a particularly daring stunt without taking his unnatural eyes from the pages.

“I feel like he’s insulting me.” Sally squinted at the one in the audience who ignored her. Cuphead just shrugged, unsure if she was right or not. Still a crack here or there was all the battle for Sally’s contract he had to show, which simply brought that same sweet and happy smile to Mugman’s face, the one that made Cuphead wonder whether the thing had become so ingrained in Mugman’s body it knew how to emote naturally the way Mugman did. The one that made him happy and proud until the knowledge that it wasn’t truly Mugman soured that joy.

So, he returned to listing things from poltergeists to the ghosts of pets flushed down toilets. That had earned him a highly offended smack upside his head, a huffy possessed brother, and zero trepidation when boarding the plane to take on Cala Maria.

====-====-====-====

Around the seventh time Cuphead shuffled past the other, body screaming for rest, sun slowly reaching for the horizon, he was stopped. The other snatched his sleeve, wordlessly hopping up onto the plane, waiting for Cuphead to sit in the seat. He was narrow enough that Mugman was able to essentially sit behind Cuphead with his legs pressing into the seat back on takeoff, keeping him in place. Nervous that he had another to take into account when dodging, he verbally asked why the other hadn’t just taken the other plane.

“He’s afraid of heights. Or maybe just flying headfirst into an angry fish lady, hard to tell.”

“What? Are you telling me you’ve let me take on all the plane debtors because Mugs doesn’t light heights?”

“See, and you might not like this, but a truly good possession is where both parties happen to agree. I’m only allowed to do so much because he’s letting me have full control. If he isn’t happy, I have to put more power in staying in control, which means less firepower for taking on things that decide to treat you like a punching bag.”

“ _WHAT?!”_

“I told you he made a deal with me so your stupid ass didn’t get turned to a fine powder, were you not paying attention?”

“There’s no—”

“So do you normally let debtors get the first hit in?”

“Wha—no!” The plane dove into a sharp spin, the wings narrowly evaded being torn to pieces by an angry—if confused—swiped hand, and the fight took the rest of Cuphead’s attention.

With the thing by him, the paralyzing gaze of hers did nothing to him. Whenever it hit it was followed by a dark giggle and a wash of heat that purged the stiffness from Cuphead and the controls. She only seemed to grow more and more sour with each counter of the other. Snarling at him far more than she had before. Still, for the most part, the other remained casual, letting Cuphead handle everything.

That was until one of her wild swings hit the plane, and broke Cuphead’s arm as the impact caused the side of the plane to smash into his side. Mugman was unharmed, tight grip on the plush seat enough to keep him stead, but then the seat fabric began to shred as she laughed. The plane was brought back under control, but not before she sent another wave of paralyzing light over them, Cuphead being too slow with only one arm to properly dodge.

The thing reattached his arm, that hum started up, unnatural eyes took on a wrathfully bright hue, and the next wave of bullets the plane shot out were the unholy shot’s color. Each impact left Cala wincing. Far from the cocky grin she wore before, she appeared unsure now with the change up. When a fully charged shot wiped two of the snakes from her head clean off, she conceded defeat faster than the two in the plane could realize a contract was now blinding the pilot.

====-====-====-====

“But I’m stronger now.” Cuphead pout, arms tightly crossed across his chest. ‘Mugman’ snort as a rock Cuphead kicked went sailing off the bridge.

“You don’t have time to negotiate a deal you didn’t make. Just take down the express and we’ll see what happens after.” Cuphead grumbled, ranting under his breath about stupid demons and stupid worry-wart brothers who needed to have more faith. This was met with a frosty smile, and an even frostier shoulder when the train proceeded to wipe the floor with him five times in a solid row. The train whose workers took one look at Mugman, got an even closer look at the shot the blue teen charged up when a swing got far too close to him, and immediately started scrounging for the contract no one actually remembered putting anywhere.

The express itself just eyed Mugman, eyed the thing inside him, rolled its eyes, gave off an exasperated whistle, and let the contract be passed over.

‘Mugman’ waved to the express as they entered the cave to hell, a pep in his step. Cuphead was just glad to be so close to the end. Porkrind had given him a boost of energy with some of the strongest coffee he’d ever had in his life, so sleep or resting was the last thing on his mind. He was about as ready as he’d ever be to take on whatever Devil came up with. He sort of hoped Devil would be more interested in taking back whatever wayward thing was in Mugman rather than the contracts or starting any fights.

====-====-====-====

The casino stood before them, bright lights illuminating everything in a sort of golden hue. Cuphead wrung his hands as he looked up at it, and the manager that stood before the door, glaring at them with bright green eyes.

“You made me lose a bet.” The manager intoned, hands on hips, acidic eyes portraying what his voice couldn’t in terms of levels of annoyed spite.

“What was the bet?” The thing, completely taking advantage of Mugman’s cute features, tossed a sugary smile in at the end.

“Nothing you need to know. Just get—”

“You have to wear that bunny costume for a week don’t you.”

“No! Just—” Plucking the two boys up by their handles, their hands going to their heads to keep their bodies connected, he carried them in, lips curled in aggravation.

“It’s definitely the bunny costume.” ‘Mugman’ whispered conspiratorially to Cuphead. The red cup just tried kicking King Dice’s shins from his spot, not pleased with dangling like a newborn kitten from King Dice’s tense grip.

“You want to get to the boss, you have to sweep the floor first.”

“I thought you were on top of that manager. Is it shedding season already?” The blue brother leaned closer to a tense red sibling to whisper. “Shedding season is terrible for everyone who isn’t Devil. If you thought regular fur balls were bad, try ones that are sentient and blood thirsty.” A desperately held back burst of laughter escaped the red cup before he could pull it in. He slapped a hand over his mouth as King Dice slapped one over his forehead.

“You know damn well what I meant, now roll so the game can start.”

“Me first!”

“Oh no, you get to sit out until Boss gets here. He ain’t exactly happy you decided to pull this stunt.” King Dice leaned one arm across the table so he could properly loom over Mugman. ‘Mugman’ replied by baring razor-sharp teeth in an even sharper grin. Cuphead watched the manager return with a weak scowl, and nothing else.

“Well the game is pretty much over with isn’t it? So you should tell me what’s in there.” Cuphead pointed to Mugman. The other ignored him, continuing to watch as King Dice clapped his hands together to produce a bright pink die. Cuphead stared at him incredulously.

“Why would I roll that when the last set I rolled got me in this mess?!”

“I swear to the fiery bowels of hell kid, it’s either this or I just let all of the pit bosses stomp you into powder.”

“Hey Wheezy! Remember a few weeks ago?” ‘Mugman’ turned to call out, cupping his hands over his mouth to better project his voice to the smoking area.

“What the fuck?! Is that what I think it is? Hell no! Nah uh, someone else take my spot!”

King Dice’s head thunked down onto the side of the table. Cuphead, feeling like a by-stander, kicked the die, watched it land on a two, watched the board move, then watched as everything faded to black as a portal dropped him at the wave of the manager’s hand.

When Cuphead returned from Phear Leap, shaken and wide-eyed, it was to the thing making a show of reclining in a chair that hadn’t been there before, reading away while King Dice’s face turned more and more violet with building irritation. Still, the fact that he wasn’t making any aggressive moves to the other told Cuphead whatever was in there wasn’t something even Devil’s right-hand man wanted to take on. Which left Cuphead at a loss as to what it could be.

“Are you sure that’s not Devil in there?” He wildly gestured to Mugman who gave a ‘see what I’ve been dealing with’ deadpan stare to King Dice.

“Boss doesn’t do possession, says it’s beneath him.” King Dice drawled, leaning on one arm while the other tossed the new pink die down. Cuphead smacked it, hardly noticing the wash of healing that came over him. Except, instead of like before, nothing happened to him. He blinked at King Dice, King Dice blinked at him, then the screams from the smoking section started. A cigar came sprinting by behind the manager, ash tray hiked up to his chin as a flock of cigarettes followed him, squealing in horror.  Cuphead wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he now knew there was someone in the casino who worked while wearing fishnet stockings or that the little cigarettes could harmonize better than the quartet he’d found and helped on Isle two.

“Why you running Mr. Wheezy? Why you going for that door Mr. Wheezy? Come on, take a shot!”

“No! Manager, you bag of dicks!”

“I forgot it rotates.” King Dice spoke, voice muffled by the cloth of the table his face now rested on. Cuphead, for what had to be the first time, didn’t feel an ounce of pity as shots started to rip apart the carpet inches behind Wheezy’s frantic sprinting.

====-====-====-====

The next die roll had him facing off against a rabbit. Now, Cuphead wasn’t sure what to expect when the rabbit gave him an expectant look upon moving its head via magic top hat. Cuphead just lifted his off his shoulders, frowning in confusion at the immediate pout that followed his extremely unimpressed response.

When he returned, it was to hear sobbing somewhere below the table, Mugman sipping a drink he hadn’t had before while reclining in a new chair made of cigarettes who cowered at every shift of the tiny body above them, and a King Dice who appeared to be eying the board as if looking for a way out.

The glass was tossed at the die, and his brother vanished into the floor with a lofty wave good-bye.

“Is it a demon?”

“No.”

“A manticore?”

“ _No._ ”

“A fish angry it was flushed?”

“What goes on in your mind to make you think that would even be an option?”

“A demon fish.”

‘I’m going to smack you.”

“Some of that sentient fur.”

King Dice, not smacking Cuphead, dropped his head to the table and groaned.

====-====-====-====

When Mugman returned, he was idly spinning a cymbal on one finger. Somewhere off to their left, a machine let off a pitiful dinging noise. Cuphead didn’t have to ask why the thing was dented to know what had gone down. He’d seen the thing’s work. When he popped up in front of a bunch of bartenders, they gave off sobs of drunken relief, called him adorable, and proceeded to play dead long enough for the magic to plop him back down by King Dice.

Cuphead smacked the die, and everyone watched the board shift so the pointer was aimed at ‘start over’. King Dice stared at it.

Cuphead and Mugman stared at it.

The casino wept.

Hell cackled.

King Dice ‘sneezed’ and ‘accidentally’ nudged the piece onto the finish. Then he realized that meant it was his turn. The teens must have realized the same, and if King Dice let off an audible sigh of relief at the sight of ‘Mugman’ not getting up from his seat, Cuphead couldn’t blame him. He still kicked the tar out of the manager though, genuinely surprised at how easy the other was compared to many of the debtors from before.

“Keep laughing you little shit, just wait until you get up to the Boss, see how long that laughter lasts.” King Dice grumbled as Wheezy offered up a pot of glue from below. The teens gave their own response to him, and made their way for the tower beside the casino.

====-====-====-====

All this time, Cuphead thought Brineybeard won the most vile slew of curses.

Brineybeard was nothing compared to the hyper-frazzled Devil pacing a line into the floor in front of him the moment they entered the room. He stopped, spinning on his heel to glare at them—or rant, it was hard to tell. He stared at them, or more specifically, Mugman.

Wordlessly, he held up his pitchfork, and for a second, Cuphead feared Mugman would be target practice, then Devil smacked it against his throne and it gave off a squeak. Blue rose up Mugman’s face as the thing struggled to keep what could only be hysterical laughter in, even going as far as biting his lip.

“The fuck.” Was all Devil said in response to the blatant, failing attempts.

The pitchfork in Devils hands gave off a squeaky whistle as his nails bit into it and it deflated. Cuphead watched it, mute confusion clear as day on his little face. Mugman lost it, laughing so hard he fell into Cuphead’s side, barely caught in time to not pitch to the floor.

“I hit people with this thing! _I squeaked a sinner to death you little shit!”_

By that point, even Cuphead was trying not to laugh as he supported his heavily rattling sibling cackling away.

The laughter died in Cuphead’s chest when Devil went from being across the room to directly over them, plucking Mugman out of Cuphead’s arms without a care to the delicate form in his tight grip. Devil’s ears were back, teeth bared in a heart-stopping sneer, flames licking up across his body. The plastic pitchfork burst into hellfire, turning to nothing within three heartbeats.

“Do you think these shorts are too short?” ‘Mugman’ asked, looking down at his legs as he dangled by one arm in Devil’s wrathful hold. Devil began to rumble, low growl rattling Cuphead simply from the power and volume.

“I mean, that’s a lot of white, not even socks! Just, leg.” Cuphead watched, horror building as Devil burst into flame, anger overtaking everything else. Still ‘Mugman’ remained unphased.

“Cuphead?” He called down, still focusing on Devil. “Have you guessed what I am?”

Cuphead, unable to speak, shook his head weakly, flinching under the harsh gaze Devil sent his way. ‘Mugman’ hummed, light and thoughtful, then, he _smiled_.

“Would you like to see what I look like outside of your brother? I’m sure you’ll know it then.”

Cuphead nodded, and not even a blink, not even a single flicker of fire later, Devil was lurching forward as his own pitchfork burst from his chest, piercing straight into the ground a few steps from Cuphead. ‘Mugman’ slid down the shaft, hopping back onto the floor as Devil cursed above them. The pitchfork vanished, reappearing far smaller behind ‘Mugman’, slowly spinning clockwise.

“The…how?”

“What? You didn’t think I was just some pointy garden tool he waved around did you? How rude!” ‘Mugman’, no, the pitchfork, pressed borrowed hands to borrowed cheeks, doe eyes wide with fake hurt.

“I…”

“Dippy over there put me on top of your contract, I happened to be over your brother’s name, so I figured a bit of fun wouldn’t hurt anyone aside from cowards thinking they can take what doesn’t belong to them.”

“Great! You helped the brat cheat! Now get back out here so I can wipe them out.” Devil snapped, scratching at a rapidly closing wound.

“It’s not cheating if you basically gave it to them, nothing in there says I couldn’t help out~” The pitchfork sing-songed, batting lashes at Devil. Devil growled low in his chest, shaking the lights of the room. “Besides, you still have to complete this deal, so, get to it boss man.”

“Fork ‘em over brat. I ain’t got all day and the imps are chomping at the bit t’ get you two fitted for your new uniforms.”

“Uni…you telling me this whole time your glorified fork had my brother!?”

“Excuse you, this fork saved your ass repeatedly.”

“Either pass em over or I’m taking it as you trying to back out of your deal.”

“I…” Cuphead struggled to get a single competent thought through all the screeching in his mind. His hand jerked to the pocket carrying the contracts, then stopped.

“Wait, what do you mean uniforms? And where’s our contract? How do I know you aren’t going to hold onto it?” He twisted his body so the side with the contracts was further from Devil. Devil snorted.

“You work for me; you get to wear uniforms. Blame King Dice, he’s the one making those rules.”

“No, we don’t! You never said anything about working for you!”

“What part of ‘go get contracts from people who owe me’ did you not take as ‘go do errands for me new lackeys’?”

“Wh- no! I’m not working for you, and my brother sure ain’t either! You lied!” Cuphead jabbed an accusatory finger at Devil. The beast went from growling to hissing, flames once more flickering over his fur, then he cooled down, giving a hearty chuckle, reducing his size so he no longer eclipsed the two below him.

“Kid, he already does. You think that pitchfork of mine will just hop skip out of someone it likes?” When no corrections or response came from said pitchfork, Cuphead let the fear in him turn to indignant determination.

“Square up then you furry angel reject, I ain’t giving you a single slip of paper.” His hands lit up, Devil reared back as if slapped, and the pitchfork remained silent. Devil reappeared on his throne, the fires of Hell casting a deep glow across the ruler of the land.

“Fine then! You don’t need to be alive to be useful.” He hissed, flicking a stray cup on a tray someone must have left behind off into the sea of red beyond the tower. The pitchfork, or Mugman, let out a cry of surprise when imps descended on him, dragging him off into the shadows, away from the two. Based on how Hell itself rumbled, the pitchfork wasn’t going down easy. Cuphead couldn’t let himself be distracted, not when his and his brother’ freedom was on the line. If he couldn’t punch the teeth of the pitchfork down its throat, there was a perfectly good replacement who actually _did_ have teeth.

====-====-====-====

Devil wasn’t easy. He wasn’t even remotely as easy as King Dice or the root pack. He wasn’t as forgiving as the countless debtors who simply let him brokenly limp away to his sibling. He pulled none of his punches. However, it seemed not having the pitchfork at his side hindered him some. Cuphead got that mostly because Devil had a habit of reaching for where he guessed it normally stood, and without it there, he was forced to make due without it. While that _did_ make it possible for Cuphead to have a chance, it was still painful.

“Just give up.” Devil cracked his hooves together, bringing them back upon realizing Cuphead had dodged. “You can’t win against me. You probably hid behind my pitchfork and let it do all the work!”

“Big talk coming from someone who didn’t even realize his weapon was missing.” Cuphead let off a few charged shots, glad to see his efforts visibly wearing down the beast.

“Ha, when you’re strong, it’s hard to judge weight. You could have known that if you’d been smarter about dealing with me.”

“So the djinn really _did_ wish for muscles!”

“What? Ow! Mother fucker!”

====-====-====-====

Cuphead dove after Devil, not willing to let him escape without returning Mugman. He didn’t regret following, even when Devil reappeared, easily ten times the size of even Cala Maria.

“I don’t need my pitchfork to dish out the pain you little brat!”

“Then tell it to leave my brother, give my brother back, and let me punch your teeth down your throat!”

“I’m going to dance on your corpse!”

“What kinda idiot dances on broken porcelain?”

====-====-====-====

Joking aside, it wasn’t going well for Cuphead. Shoulder heavily cracked, legs hastily slathered with glue that was the only reason he was able to stand and move quickly, he was hurt. Devil wasn’t much better, but still, one crying lord of hell was nothing compared to the screeches Cuphead’s body let off when he dove to avoid an axe.

To no ones surprise, when a stray piece of shrapnel from the bomb that went off caught his leg, it broke the limb off entirely. He toppled over, far too astonished to respond to the axe tossed as a follow up.

Then an enraged shriek full of so much barbarous anger echoed throughout the whole of Hell, the axe was sliced out of the air by a very familiar red weapon, and Cuphead’s shoulder was fully repaired as a wash of equally familiar heat pulsed through him. The pitchfork, still in control of Mugman, left a trail of hellfire with every step. Sharp fangs gleamed in the light of a brightly burning Hell, steam from blood that wasn’t Mugman’s poured from his frame.

_“You absolute jackass.”_ Interestingly enough, that sounded more like Mugman when he was angry, just, far more intimidating with an underlying hum the pitchfork mimicked. Hell too, seemed to mimick it with a lower one of its own. Devil grew visibly pale, fur turning ash grey. “ _Sending your puffballs to drag me to the trophy room? Are you **out your furry mind?!**_ ”

“Uh, now baby, you know I was just…leveling the playing field! And that’s the most secure room!”

“ _I’m going to wear your pelt like a toga.”_ Cuphead’s leg was pushed back into place, returned to a healthy state, and he was then the only mortal to witness Devil be reduced to a sobbing wreck on the tower floor they were all returned to with a single wave of Hellfire.

The pitchfork spun in an agitated manner behind Mugman, unable to stay still from the sheer amount of indignation it felt.

“Treating me like one of those lackeys you hoarded…the sheer _disrespect._ ”

“Is… Is that it?” Cuphead weakly spoke up, mortal mind still reeling from what horrors it had to witness. The pitchfork stopped spinning, eerie eyes flicked his way.

“You mean are you free to go? Yes.”

“No, well, yes, but what about my brother?” Dread pooled in Cuphead’s abdomen as the possessed teen made a show of thinking, tapping his nose, rocking to put his weight to one side, pitchfork still as a statue. Cuphead clenched the contracts, his and Mugman’s included, to his chest.

“ _Y_ ou, are free to go.” The other finally responded. Cuphead’s soul stopped. “I happen to be quite content where I am.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I don’t think you understand what I can and can’t do. You thought I was a pet goldfish not too long ago!”

“Get your stupid fork to leave my brother alone!” Cuphead turned to a sniveling Devil, the very same who squeaked in horror when blazing eyes turned on him. Cuphead felt every bit of fear he’d ever had for Devil die, shriveling away under building disbelief.

“What is with you jerks and going back on deals! You said he agreed so you could help me out, well I’ve got all of these! I…” He stared at the contracts, mind racing, remembering the numerous snippets of conversation the pitchfork and King Dice and Devil had. Before anyone else in the room could figure out what he was doing, the contracts were ablaze in a nearby brush of fire left over from before. The pitchfork shot at him, narrowly dodged as he dove for Mugman. Mugman staggered, as if held by strings that had been cut, he toppled over into Cuphead’s arms. Before the pitchfork could dig itself out of the pillar it pierced clear through, Cuphead was sprinting for the door, leaving behind a whimpering Devil, and a vibrating pitchfork aglow with anger.

====-====-====-====

“I burned the contracts!” He shouted as he passed by the Phantom Express. It blinked, the workers on it blinked, and then he was gone, brother limp in his arms. He continued running through the Isles, only pausing to tell the debtors outside that he’d set them free. His goal approached rapidly, the tacky golden building shining in the light of the morning sun. Djimmi fell of his carpet when Cuphead shot his door clean off its hinges. As he struggled to follow what the boy was saying, he was also trying to fix his hat.

“Wait! Wait kid, you gotta go one at a time!” Cuphead stomped his foot, hold on his brother tightening in his frustration.

“I burned your stupid contract, so tell me if my brother is gonna be okay!” Djimmi, finally cluing in, float down, examining the seemingly sleeping blue brother.

“What do you mean okay? Was he hit or something?”

“Devil’s pitchfork set up shop in him for a while, is he gonna be okay? It left when I burned our contract.” Djimmi carefully hefted the teen from Cuphead’s shaking arms, softly letting him rest on the carpet Djimmi vacated.

“If it got booted out, he’ll be fine, it’s like going from super charged to drained entirely. He’s probably just sleeping to restore energy. Nothing to do but wait for him to wake up. I can see about finding a cot for you—or you can just hop onto the carpet too, that’s fine. I’ll just… I’ll be fixing my door if you need me.”

Cuphead curled around his hopefully sleeping brother, exhaustion slamming into him like the Phantom Express. He had just enough time to hear Djimmi start up a light show to fix the door, then he was out.

====-====-====-====

Word spread quickly, and upon confirmation the contracts bindings were gone, the two teens awoke to grand fanfare. Cuphead didn’t care, far more estatic his sibling was free from the pitchfork. Evidenced by the excited hugging he was woken up by. His brother didn’t speak much, not truly answering any questions Cuphead asked, just hugging him, babbling about how happy he was they weren’t dead or wearing silly uniforms in a casino full of skeletons. It was obvious the blue brother was simply frazzled beyond words and needed a spot of time to collect himself. Djimmi had no problem acting as a barrier for them, and the debtors had no trouble taking that time to figure out how to thank the cups.

After some prodding of a magical sort, just to be sure there were no lingering leeches in his brother, and getting the all clear, the brothers stepped out, and were immediately swept up by Elder Kettle, whistling in joy as he spun them around. The remaining week would be spent in celebration mixed with a few scattered apologies here or there. Mugman utilizing his cute full force to get Cagney to forgive him. Rumor still flinched anytime he was near though, but as long as nothing came from the casino, Cuphead couldn’t find himself caring about how intimidated someone was by his sibling.

His dear sibling who now stood on the counter, face buried in his hands as Cuphead tried to wrangle a handful of cockroaches that had burst from one of the cabinets. His darling sibling who let out a high-pitched shriek when one of the bugs showed off usable wings, and flew at his face. The window shattered, the blue brother bolted, and Cuphead was left a laughing mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midway through, do you know what muse piped in with? "We need to write a Cuphead version after this, it needs to happen, oh wait, shit we have the other stories. fuck....shit..." 
> 
> It's amazing how one shitpost like thought turned into this fuckin thing. But fuck if any one of y'all think i ain't proud of this.


	21. Possessed posessions 2(Cuphead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same concept as before, just with Cuphead being the one not really thinking before agreeing...again.  
> Yes, that does mean no pairings, though there are hints if you want to call em that.

Devil, feared and hated by many, given goats and virgins by others—and that was the one he actually hated because _really_ what the fuck was he supposed to do with a sobbing mortal with “strategic” “sacrificial” stab wounds bleeding all over the casino carpet? Was currently facing a dilemma.

Oh sure, many believed him to be pretty close to all powerful, and he wasn’t going to be the first to tell them he couldn’t cure their stupidity, thus, revoking all chances of being called ‘all powerful’. But that didn’t mean things could put a bit of a crimp on his day. Which was funny when he thougth about how he’d just shoved a couple of young teens off to get the shit kicked out of them by asshats who somehow got out of Hell contracts in hand. He blamed his stupid sexy manager and his stupid sexy manager’s sexy habit of distracting him. How someone with no body looked so fine just wasn’t fair if one were to ask Devil. Devil, who would then scratch his beer gut, stretch out his noodle arms, and use even more noodle-like legs to waddle said belly onto the casino floor to poke at people’s blatant flaws until they cried at the poker tables.

King Dice hated when he did that, said it mucked the cards up.

“You ever try dealing cards covered in bird snot? No? Then zip it.”

Devil was mostly mad he was banned from doing something in his own casino.

Now, his problem wasn’t to do with that, or at least, not his most current problem. His current problem featured a bunch of rowdy demons that got beyond shit-faced and were making his stupid sexy manager go purple in the face with rage. Normally he was fine with that, stupid sexy manager only got more sexy as the emotions ramped up. But these demons were also talking smack about the casino, and himself. Devil hadn’t worked his furry ass off for centuries—he hadn’t, it was all sort of handed to him and Hell decided he was cute enough for it to defend, so really it was Hell that worked to keep him solidly in power alongside his Pitchfork. The very Pitchfork giving off a high hum of blatantly mocking laughter. Evidently the tasteless ass goblins threatening to use Martini to break Mangosteen thought he wasn’t all that great. The pitchfork mostly found it hilarious that he was getting annoyed by people talking shit. They did it all the time, it’s just, these were demons in his own building, recounting embarrassing shit he’d done before the casino to a—thankfully—far too pissed off to care manager.

And now one of them was moseying in on his stupid sexy turf.

It wasn’t _his_ fur that was about to fly that day.

He dropped the pitchfork over the pile of papers he’d been pretending to sort through to appear busy, and went about ‘correcting’ ‘failed communication’.

The pitchfork, already bored, chat with Hell for a spot of time. Then it realized what it was laying on, and got _an idea._ Hell would _normally_ care that its’ oldest friend was hop-skipping off while its child used a demon’s face to sharpen his claws, but, well really that was far more interesting. And it knew well and good whatever its’ oldest friend did was bound to be at least—if not more—hilarious in the end. So, it popped a fake in the pitchforks place, and went back to the slightly off-putting humming it always did.

====-====-====-====

Now, Cuphead wasn’t going to outright say he hated the color blue now—for obvious reasons. One obvious reason currently taunting Goopy Le Grande from behind a tree that honestly didn’t deserve the beat down it was getting while Cuphead tried to get back up. Not only was it frustrating to be relying on his pacifist brother acting as distraction so he didn’t get stomped into powder, it was crushing. His pride was dying a horrible death, _had_ died a horrible death if he was honest. Right about the time his brother managed to weasel Cuphead out of fighting an onion simply by getting him to talk about the difference between sweet onions and Vidalia onions.

The carrot had popped up, saw the two chatting away, and just sort of swat Cuphead out of spite into a tree. Likely because Cuphead had made fun of the potato, going as far as using potatoes thrown out of the dirt of the garden to blind the giant one. The only good thing to come out of that fight was the contract the onion pulled out of the dirt to hand over to his brother while his brother kept the onion going on and on about how to make the perfect French onion soup.

He was going to have _nightmares_ about onions peeling their own kind.

Still, he’d come out of that fight a bit more agile, a bit faster, and just a hint bitter.

The bitterness mostly stemmed from the fact that it was his baby brother—not really baby, but he was going to tote that until he was burning in Hell, something that was creeping ever closer—that got the contract. The thing _he_ was supposed to because _he_ rolled the dice. His brother had told him not too, the main source of his impulse control being just a hint too slow to stop him from making the biggest mistake in his short life. The biggest mistake he could ever make actually. Because really, what other mistake could he make that would match up to selling his and his brother’s souls to the Devil for something as lame as money. Here was a blob with a mean right hook, probably the thing given to him, and all Cuphead had gone for was something he and his brother were already getting in spades just by playing and gambling like the others there.

That bitterness was also the first of his emotions to get sucker punched by the image of his sibling getting nabbed by the blob and smashed into the ground. Cuphead wasn’t even aware he was hearing someone— or something—else whisper promises to help him. His only thought was on protecting his brother and beating the snot out of the laughing blueberry. He’d do _anything._

The world flickered, dimmed, and he felt like he was floating, it was the last thing he was fully aware of.

====-====-====-====

Mugman barely managed to avoid breaking into tiny pieces by using his small stature to squirm into the glove rather than where glove met dirt. So when the hand was slammed down, the forced curl of the glove wound up protecting him. He waved to a red faced Goopy, shot out one of his teeth, and scurried away, hoping Cuphead was taking advantage of his breather. Mugman wasn’t fond of fighting. Playfighting, yes, he loved scuffling with his sibling despite Elder Kettles harried exasperation when one or both of them wound up breaking from it. But actual, real fighting? Mugman was so glad he’d gotten good at dodging thanks to his brother’s surprise attacks.

It hurt seeing his sibling get knocked around though. Because of that, and because Mugman was outright offended the blob had insulted his brother’s intelligence—no one but family was allowed to mock family _thank you very much—_ he’d ignored the ‘stay on the sidelines Mugs, let me take care of this!’. He’d readily admit he would have much preferred carefully wording his way into collecting another contract rather than diving behind yet another tree that got snapped clean in half by a vicious swing. It was much less scary to talk his way into contracts than punching his way into them.

Not that his brother had much problem with it, as evidenced by the odd silence that befell the area right before Goopy nabbed him again. Fighting in a forest full of exposed roots was terrible for one’s ankle health. His snapped before he even realized one leg wasn’t moving quite like it should. He stared at the glove that hovered above him, confused, a bit panicked, and nervous. But the tree stump was in his way of seeing Goopy or his brother, so he carefully leaned back, reaching slowly for his leg and the glue. Then the glove was turned into a fluffy cloud of stuffing by a shot he’d never seen before, and slow and steady got kicked out the door.

The leg was hastily put back in place, soul liquid making it hard to get a perfectly solid grip, and glue applied all within seconds. Seconds that were filled with Goopy screaming in pain, horror, crying for mercy, and laughter that didn’t sound right. Fanning his leg with a frantic hand, he listened to the battle turned slaughter. Shots rang out, blue goo splattered audibly, sometimes visibly. Mugman hated that he hadn’t stocked more bandages, something to wrap the leg in so he could just tie it in place and get up. Something was wrong with his sibling, that much he knew. To be uselessly waiting for one limb to reattach so he could get up and actually move was nerve-wracking. They were already at risk of losing their souls, Mugman couldn’t really figure out what could make it worse.

Then the screaming stopped, a massive burst of light, a boom, and silence. Even the birds seemed to fall silent leaving nothing but the sound of leaves scraping along the dirt. Having enough, he chose to hope for the best on his leg, heaving himself up via the stump. His brother stood in the center of the clearing, looking away from him. He learned why when it began to rain bits of Goopy Le Grande. He must have made some sort of noise, something heard over the splots and splats of blob tinged white from intense heat, because his brother’s attention snapped right to him, and he promptly forgot about his leg. This turned out to be unfortunate for his current situation, as his leg, not fully repaired, slid clear out of place and he toppled over with a surprised squeak.

It felt as if a single beat of time had passed, from the moment Mugman hit the dirt, to hands putting his broken leg back in place and a wave of heat washing over him. It was uncomfortable, but not near as uncomfortable as the vivid red and gold eyes observing him, as if waiting for something. Mugman’s mind rifled through a few options, found none to its liking, tossed them all in the air and told him good luck, so he just went for it.

“Gosh Cuphead, I know you like red, but isn’t that a bit excessive?”

Whatever Cuphead, or perhaps not Cuphead, not based on the odd way he knelt as if unsure how to properly kneel and keep balanced, expected him to say, that apparently wasn’t it. He let out a snort, almost breaking the nearly fully repaired limb still in a far stronger hold than normal.

“You can never have too much red.” Came the amused response. Then a chunk of glove squelched down beside them, and the other tilted his head. “Or was that gore? Huh, not too sure. Gimme a couple more debtors and I can tell ya.” He heaved a statuesque Mugman up. Mugman, who’d always been a bit more observant, and wasn’t blind, was now entirely sure that wasn’t his sibling. At the very least, there wasn’t a chance he was all in control.

He let out a breath, face crumpling into unmitigated worry. “Oh Cuphead, what did you do?”

“Being the eldest and handling it. Sure, roundabout way, but it works! See?” The other jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the splattered clearing. “Went from Goopy Le Grande to Goopy Le Gone! If you’re afraid I’ve devoured your sibling, I haven’t.”

“I was more worried my brother was being piloted by what I can only hope isn’t just some fur shed from Devil that fell into his soul liquid.”

‘Cuphead’ stared at him, blinking slowly, mulling over that, and finally, turned to look off a bit to the side. “Shit that’s good. Gonna have to remember that next time.” Then a bright gaze returned to Mugman’s own. “But no! I’m much better. You can try and guess it out later, but in case you forgot, you and he have a bit of a deadline to make and we’re eating up time.” He spun on his heel, grip loose around Mugman’s wrist, easily leaving the bits of Goopy to slowly, painfully slowly, converge back into proper shape.

====-====-====-====

Body on autopilot, Mugman let the thing lead him as it pleased. Mostly because this was a common occurrence for his brother even pre-possession. He felt sort of disconnected, usually level mind throwing ideas on how to handle a possessed sibling. He knew how Cuphead acted, how his hothead brother responded to various things. He had no idea about this thing. At the very least it didn’t appear hostile. The grip around his wrist wasn’t tight, and it kept a comfortable if fast pace. But the way it tore apart Goopy meant he just hadn’t gotten on its bad side or Cuphead had done something. Whatever the reason, he’d contemplate figuring out while the entity decimated Hilda Berg. She hadn’t even stood half a chance, and he feared what would have happened had she not crashed into her observatory, out of the plane’s range. Rather, out of it due to Mugman being right next to it.

He was going to run in and check on her, but once more he was snatched up and dragged away. The thing lazily waving a hand in her direction when he expressed his worry.

“They got contracts, they can’t really die. Pop up in Hell for a bit? Yeah, but it’ll always return to the contract. She’s probably just going to have a nasty headache up until we get these things back. Then she’ll be in Hell, and pain is the least of her worries.”

“That doesn’t speak well of the supposed torture that goes on if you go there.”

“Eh?”

“Welcome to Hell, no, no, we stopped stabbing people a while ago, now we just make them listen to terrible music.”

The thing snorted almost painfully, hand flying up to his mouth. Jokes about Hell were fine then, it was something, but not much. He needed more, and, as they boarded the barge, he got the opportunity to learn more.

It was a pair of siblings, which to Mugman meant he got one, Cuphead got the other. When he went to step into the ring however, he was plucked from the ground and plopped down into a seat next to a very amused fly. He blinked, head slowly rotating so he could watch the thing stroll into the ring with two equally amused amphibians.

“Are you actually telling me to sit on the sidelines?” Dubious, uncertain if that was the message being given, he called out. Ribby and Croaks, well aware of what a brewing sibling fight looked like, wisely kept their mouths shut. They still shot glances at one another that clearly translated to:

‘this is hilarious’

‘right? Are they actually gonna try fighting us?’

‘Well one is. The other might strangle this one before he can.’

‘Bro, they don’t have necks to strangle.’

‘Bro. Look at me bro. Look for a single damn I give.’

‘It’s a barren field Bro.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Like your love life actually.’

‘When they leave, I’m killing you.’

Cuphead, or rather, the thing, wasn’t paying attention, acting as if he was indulging Mugman by responding. Something that ratcheted up the cold waves of indignation in the blue brother. “Of course I am. Part of the deal is you have to be kept safe, so you sit there, I bet that fly has interesting stories you could hear!”

Now, had Cuphead been in control, he’d have immediately seen the indignation turn into malicious spite. He’d have then immediately called a time out, escorted Mugman off the ship, and proceeded to weasel his way into forgiveness before Mugman exacted revenge. Alas, Cuphead wasn’t in control. He wasn’t even in much of a state to warn the thing. So all it saw was an equally indulgent nod, a serene smile, and the thing to be kept in tact if it wanted an easy possession to continue turn to the fly across the table.

“I ate my cousin.” Said the fly. Mugman gratefully accepted a glass of water from a fly waiter and nodded, humming to show his interest.

“My brother sold my soul to Satan.”

“Well I’ll be honest here, not sure which of us has it worse.”

“The cousin I’d assume.”

“Fair!”

====-====-====-====

As another projectile flew mere inches from Mugman’s head, it dawned on the thing _exactly_ what Mugman had done. With every shot of fire drenched flies soaring past him, of stray punches that actually wiped out the table they sat at, Mugman didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch, remaining still as a porcelain doll despite the fly across from him nervously watching the fight and not regaling him with more tales of family shenanigans. It meant the fight dragged on longer than it should and if the thing hadn’t been so good at fighting, its host would have had plenty of battle wounds to show for the contract that was eventually given to him.

He turned, fury warping the air around him met by equal amounts of glacial ‘innocence’. Mugman took a sip from his drink, tea by the looks of it, and used the glass to gesture over the furious entity’s borrowed shoulder.

“They’re about to come after you again.” And because the fly beside him was also staring behind with impressive fear, he turned his head to see two groaning frogs. Heaving a deep sigh, host not quite happy with something showing such malice towards his sibling, he turned back, choosing to let the prank slide off his back.

The chair was empty.

The door to the ships entrance was slamming shut.

The flies around him looked exactly four seconds from bursting into laughter.

Instead they burst into flame following a frighteningly wrathful shriek no porcelain teen should ever be able to make.

====-====-====-====

The entity tore out of the barge, searching for the slightest hint of white and blue. Not finding anything immediately, he left the barge—which was slowly filling with hellfire—behind, running for the next debtor instead. And that was where he found the teen’s sibling, seemingly having an insult battle with a flower easily twenty times his size.

“My grandmother has a better garden! What sort of amateur puts snapdragons next to lilies?!”

“You don’t even have a grandmother!”

“Exactly! My non-existent grandmother is outdoing a flower in garden arrangement!”

“Rat bitch!”

“Big talk coming from someone who eats fertilizer!”

“Big talk coming from a midget with water for a brain!”

“It isn’t water.”

“Then what is it? Moonshine?”

“Vinegar.”

“Wh…”

“I’d call you a pansy but that would be an insult to the flower. Carnations have it bad enough as is, I’d rather not add another flower to the list. It’s easy to see why yellow carnations mean disappoiment, they probably got that meaning after looking at yo—Hey!”

By that point, Cagney had gone from cutesy doe eyes to vicious glare. A quaint smile to barbarous sneer. Thorns drove into the dirt, sharp fingertips shredded nearby grass. So, without pause, seeing the vines creeping closer to the deranged porcelain teen, Cuphead strode in, hefted Mugman up over his shoulder awkwardly waved to a still furious flower and started backing out, well aware he couldn’t reasonably fight as he was.

“Little brothers, what can you do?” He called out, eye twitching as the one tossed over his shoulder kicked his thigh.

“Don’t think this means you’ve won you dirt sniffing cheap replacement rose!”

“Cheap?! You little--!”

It was by sheer luck Cuphead got out of the fence line in time.

====-====-====-====

“Real fuckin’ funny.”

“Well I certainly think so.”

“This is just eating up what time you have to get these contracts you know.”

“I was handling it, you just decided to be rude. That was a perfectly fine conversation Mr. Cagney and I were having!”

“I want to hate you, I really do.”

Mugman hummed, dangling limply in the hold, watching the ground pass as ‘Cuphead’ carried him wherever it was he wanted. Mugman sort of hoped it was back to the house so he could really show the thing what it meant to deal with their family. Elder Kettle’s thousand-yard stare was something Mugman could only dream of mimicking one day, thing was the stuff of nightmares.

“Are you taking me back home?”

“No, I’m not taking you to Hell. Hell has enough on its plate, it doesn’t need a gremlin like you finding out how to tame the imps, something I could definitely see you doing.”

“Well then, another question if you would be so kind to answer, can you see my brother’s memories?”

“They come and go, why?”

“Goodie! Then it appears that you haven’t seen what happens whenever my _wonderful_ brother annoys me!”

‘Cuphead’ felt a foreign ‘oh dammit’ snap through his mind a mere second before his head was suddenly removed and he was stuck staring at a completely content Mugman. Mugman held his head on either side of his face. It must have been the surprise on his face that made a devious smile curl across the teen’s features. Without a way to see where he was going, the body immediately came to a halt, feet staggering awkwardly without any ability to properly coordinate based on what was being directly fed to it.

“I see we’ve come to an impasse.” ‘Cuphead’ finally said. Mugman’s devious grin only grew further. “I swear if you do what I think you’re going to I will get you back for it.” Pearly white teeth shone in the sunlight, malice drifting into the other’s expression.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you let yourself get possessed, and before you decided to possess my brother. Good thing Cuphead has a sturdy frame!” With that, and without any other fanfare, Cuphead’s noggin was tossed into a nearby bush, Mugman threw himself out of the startled slack grip around his waist and knees, and bolted for the garden again, leaving the body of his brother to stumble uselessly around searching for a very irate head.

‘He does this _every dang time_ we have a fight. I can’t believe I forgot!’

‘I’m going to hogtie him to a tree and leave him there.’

‘I’ve done that before, it doesn’t end well.’

‘What the hell kind of family…’

‘The kind that toss each other’s heads into bushes.’

The body hit a tree, and flopped over. Down in Hell, a scream belonging to a weapon pulling a vanishing act rang out, leaving an already frazzled Devil even more harried than before.

====-====-====-====

When the thing approached Cagney once more, it was to the plant picking dirt out from under his fingertips. Cagney spotted him, and slowly arched a brow.

“Nice.” Was all he said about the leaves still stuck in the straw and handle.

“Where is he.” It wasn’t a question. The thing was certain the other had run this direction. Likely in some horrid attempt to prove he could handle his own and get contracts. The thing didn’t care. It had two obligations it had to fill to have a proper good time, and the first of those was proving to be far more slippery than it had ever thought some squeaky-clean teen could ever be.

Cagney’s brows shot up. He adopted an innocently befuddled expression, eyes glittering, leaf hand daintily covering his mouth as a tiny gasp was let out. “What? You mean your freaky-ass eyes can’t see souls? Shit. I was going to ask if I still had one. Way to ruin my hopes.” He went from sweet to leaning on one arm, the other resting on what the thing assumed worked as a hip for a flower with none of that.

“Soooo…” Cuphead rolled his hand, indicating he wasn’t remotely interested in playing along with the joke. The entity was on a mission. It was no longer about keeping a sweet sibling with an adorable appearance safe. It was about proving he wasn’t getting rusty, that some mortal wasn’t outdoing him in trickery. Either Cagney was waiting to show off the corpse of the sibling or he was stalling so Cuphead wouldn’t be able to search.

“Now, the interesting thing about this garden of mine, is I personally grew every single flower here. See? Look how lush it is! We got the daffodils, the hydrangea’s, the day lilies, the bellflowers…it’s nice isn’t it?” The entity shifted his weight to one side, hands burning with shots juuuuust _waiting_ to be unleashed. “Alas!” Cagney tossed one hand up to his forehead, dramatically looking skyward and the other swept across the air above the flowers. “Not a single fuck to be found!” Cagney bent down, face hovering inches from Cuphead’s. “You know what else is missing? A certain piece of paper. Bet that gatekeeper don’t know he’s supposed to keep a little flower from getting to Isle Two now that all the contracts are in your hands.”

Cuphead stared ahead.

He blinked once.

Cagney leaned back, lips wobbling to suppress the wild cackles that wanted oh so desperately to come out. His garden casually swayed in the breeze, bushes giving a clear view straight through to show not a single place the brother in blue could be.

A scream slowly built up in the possessed teen’s closed mouth, eyes gaining a certain level of respect driven hatred Cagney was frankly impressed by. This was a thing that had been soundly kicked into the dirt for the first time in what had to be centuries. This was a thing that was now hauling ass out of the garden. Cagney only hoped his flowers managed to tell him what happened on the other isles. He was also unbelievably glad the thing hadn’t taken that anger out on him. He’d seen what happened to Goopy and the siblings on the barge, he wasn’t keen on following in their footsteps.

====-====-====-====

King Dice wasn’t having that great of a day. It had started so well too! Had a couple of dishes running around getting the tar kicked out of them picking up contracts. Had a good show of watching Mangosteen mentally scar a whole table who hadn’t expected the eight ball to start talking shit about their skills. Had a spot of trouble with demons that was smoothly ‘fixed’ by his boss. Finally, got to see his boss sprint around like an idiot looking for his weapon. King Dice’s own familiar squeaked out laughter from inside his suit watching the lord of hell call for the pitchfork like one would a dog.

Then a tiny blue cup came full tilt sprinting past. When he’d tried to stop the child, he’d been summarily ignored, used as a springboard even! The kid just vaulted off his shoulders and smashed out a window in a mad dash to get to Isle Two. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t still wiping the shoe print off his face. Needless to say, when the other one came in, hellfire pouring from hands that shouldn’t be capable of producing the stuff, his day wobbled into ‘the liquor cabinet has a choir that sings beckoningly every time it opens’ territory. The damn thing took one look at him, spent a solid minute laughing, regained his composure, looked at the manager again, and bust out laughing again.

“I hope Boss uses you as nothing but an ass-scratcher for the next century.” King Dice hissed, dropping into a portal, fed up with the day and wanting nothing more than to fix up his features.

====-====-====-====

Isle two smelled so heavily of the carnival it was almost nauseating. The heavy smell of sweets, the sharp tang of metal of dubious construction, the multitudes of sweaty people wandering about with food in hand that would make any health inspector projectile vomit hard enough to escape the planet’s lower atmosphere… The thing had never been more glad the teen didn’t need to breathe, and could thus keep most of it out. It was fairly certain the boost of energy it was getting wasn’t from Hell but from the ungodly amount of sugar in the air.

It hoped that meant the sibling would get a sugar crash so he could drag the unconscious gremlin onto the ferris wheel, get him to the top, and shut the thing down. See how Mugman handled being somewhere Cuphead _knew_ Mugman wouldn’t like due to the height of the thing. Hopefully it would mean he’d be stuck there clinging to the seat for as long as it took the thing to get the rest of the contracts and fulfil the second obligation. With that in mind, and not seeing a single hint of blue being in the vicinity of the roller coaster. It took the liberty of relieving Beppi of his contract rather brutally. Leaving the clown tied in the shape of a dog, right on the broken-up tracks. If a coaster car happened to make it up to him? Ah well, he wouldn’t die from it.

Bon Bon too didn’t have the brother in blue either, but she was left fried beyond any ability to move, torso turned into a burnt mess of blackened sugar, face spared only because the castle sacrificed itself.

Djimmi was where he got lucky. He found the Djinn, a sarcophagus, and a strange looking puppet consoling a sniffling mess of porcelain. Mugman rattled so badly it could be heard. The revenge the entity wanted to dole out to the child was immediately swamped by indignant rage courtesy of a host seeing threatening things hovering around a clearly traumatized brother. Trauma that could only have come from them based on the few snippets that drifted his way.

“Look, I’m sorry! I had no idea you were that badly afraid of heights. I put the plane away, you don’t gotta worry!” The debtor tried to soothe the other who just let out a weak whimper. Djimmi opened his mouth to try again, never more frustrated Bon Bon or Beppi weren’t there. Hell, Wally would be better than him. Wally at least knew how to take care of children considering he had one of his own. Instead a ball of brotherly wrath, screaming like a honey badger so incensed with rage shrieking nonsensically was all it could do launched directly at his face.

“Gee, we really are sorry. Didn’t mean that much harm by it!” The puppet continued, ignoring the screaming behind it. The sarcophagus went to go help the djinn only because it wasn’t sure its frowny face was much of any help.

It was promptly turned into a cudgel.

“But uh, hey.” Puphead plopped down beside the significantly less scared porcelain teen, nudging his shoulder lightly. “I know a place that makes amazing malt shakes if you, uh, want to pop on over while anger issues over there maul my creator.”

Djimmi raced by, clutching the magic carpet desperately while the ball of anger basically levitated after him, gravity far too afraid to work its magic on the kid.

Mugman gave a weak smile back.

“That sounds wonderful but I’ve got to get back to it. I doubt there are malt shakes in Hell after all.”

“Oh yeah! Yeah probably not.” In the background, Djimmi soared by, limply flying across the arena like a graceless, drunk swan, arms flapping listlessly as he slipped into sweet, sweet unconsciousness.

“Please make sure my possessed brother doesn’t kill Mr. Djimmi.” With that, Mugman trot out of the pyramid, well aware there was nothing he could do, and staying would only ruin the game.

Puphead turned back to the battle, and came face to face with a seething mass of black rage. He immediately put his hands up, slowly backing away, sweat running down his wooden face. The ball of void like ire swept out of the pyramid after the other, and Puphead let out a great sigh. A sigh that was cut off as the sarcophagus fell from its spot embedded in the ceiling down onto him. He was left staring at sand while his creator twitched every now in again.

====-====-====-====

Mugman had but a scant few seconds of precious freedom before a possessed sibling was on him. He was promptly tied with what had to be the draw strings for the red tent behind them, and tossed into the mausoleum. Immediately, he saw a bit of a problem with this.

“Cuphead wait! What if there are ghosts in here!” He cried, backing up until his back pressed against the central podium.

“Don’t be silly, this place is where the dead go to rest, not haunt little shits what don’t know how to listen to their elders.”

“But what if the ghosts don’t like the flowers left by their families! Or what if the family cursed the place! Or what—“ Eyes blazing with unholy light snapped to him, and he instinctively snapped his mouth shut, far less amused now.

“Sit tight mortal, I’ve got debtor blood to shower Isle Two in. Gotta get rid of this anger _somehow_.” With that, the great doors usually left wide open were slammed shut, doors Mugman couldn’t ever recall being closed for as long as his memory served him. The place was instantly plunged into pure blackness. While Mugman wasn’t afraid of the dark, he was indeed afraid of the many ghost stories Cuphead used to tell him before bedtime. There wasn’t an Elder Kettle to come in, disappointment steaming off his metal frame, cloth in one hand, soap in the other. Instead there was just a void around him. Faintly, very faintly, he could hear the sound of what had to be a battle outside.

Inside, it was still and silent of all but the rattling from his own body. He tried shifting, annoyed his body wasn’t flexible enough to reach the knot on the rope. His arms just started grinding angrily together whenever he got close enough for his fingertips to brush against it.

Then, between one angry wince and another, there was a ghost in front of him, ethereal and pink. It stared at him, likely debating how best to start whatever it was going to, and ultimately opened its mouth.

“I’m actually still here because my family buried me in an air-tight casket and my body is a swampy corpse soup right now. It’s real gross. I’d show you but the thing is close to blowing and at this point I’m hoping bits of me blow off into the other tombs so that bitch Tina can stop bragging about her shitty cedar coffin.”

Mugman, as any teen who hadn’t so much as seen a horror movie would do, just screamed, and fainted. The ghost trapped in the vase above him, recognizing the cry of a youngster, emerged gently from her hiding place, peeking over the podium down at the child. When the pink ghost reached for the tiny form, she went from a soft blue to a harsh red, a spear appeared in her grip, and she played the fiercest game of ghost whack-a-mole ever performed on the Isles.

By the time he was waking up, she was coated in ghost blood, glowing a friendly blue, and ready to start sweetly consoling him. Her smile didn’t so much as twitch as a piece of ghost fell from the ceiling behind her, ghostly mustache dissipating into the ether. He was mostly thankful for her giving him a couple gifts she’d found while wandering about, giving him a right snazzy boost in strength on top of energy. It wasn’t enough to break the ropes, but it was better than nothing. Despite his exhaustion, he remained awake, scared he’d be trapped in the dark building for however long it took the furry lazy lord of Hell to wander out, find the soul he was owed, and drag him out and down to Hell.

Chalice did what she could to comfort him, sad she couldn’t remove the ropes or move the door. She did regale him with plenty of stories of her adventures, and that was how ‘Cuphead’ found them. The entity threw open the doors, took in the decimated bits of ghost still lingering here or there, the ghost floating beside the teen, and spent two healthy handfuls of seconds trying to figure out how to react. Chalice sipped from a glass, peering at him disdainfully.

“There were ghosts.” Was all she said, vanishing in the next moment now that the other had returned for Mugman. Cuphead coughed, rubbing the back of his head, grimacing when the last stubborn leaf fell from his handle. While it was certainly Cuphead’s bashful response, the bright eyes did little to put Mugman at ease. Nor did the blood visibly splattered on his shirt.

“He’s not dead?” The entity tried. The attempt was met with an accusatory glare. “Okay, fine, the good news is I have all the contracts. The bad news is I gotta get you to Isle three because the anxiety this kid had without you in the general vicinity wasn’t fun. So the great news is no leaving you on the Ferris wheel! Or… here.” He shivered under the glacial glower the other gave him, hesitantly plucking the teen up and throwing him over his shoulder. Now that Mugman’s arms were tied, there wasn’t much chance for him to steal Cuphead’s head, and there wasn’t any way it was going to get its host to just let it drag the teen behind him by the rope, so this was the best option it could think of.

====-====-====-====

“Deceased parrot.”

“No.”

“The souls of ten thousand angry geese.”

“What in the ever-loving hell?”

“Hell hound. Do they have hell hounds? Mr. King Dice, are there hell hounds?”

“Don’t answer him or I’m setting you on fire.”

“They do? Can I name one Mr. Whiskers?”

“Please just go back to trying to guess what I am.”

“Skeleton.”

“No…”

“Two skeletons.”

King Dice remained staunchly silent as the visibly distant, glazed expression on one possessed child pressing on through the die house by sheer force of will. He would have felt pity had it not been for the comment thrown at him as they left.

“Mr. King Dice, your eye shadow is smudged, and I can still see the shoe print.”

By the time the door closed, King Dice’s face was flushed a vivid violent violet.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead flopped down onto a bench, dropping Mugman down beside him. The entity felt a sort of bone-deep exhaustion that was impressive mostly because its host didn’t have bones. Mugman too seemed to be feeling the effects of running around so much. He’d stopped listing off various things the other could be. And though the entity was grateful, it was hard to shake the feeling it wasn’t a good thing. Mugman leaned against him, soft humming drifting up that surprisingly made it hard to keep borrowed eyes open. Each blink lasted longer than the last until finally he was out, and the soft humming drifted off, lullaby easing him into gentle sleep.

Mugman, sure Cuphead wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon, carefully moved away. He shifted until he was off the bench, then he hurried away as quietly as he could, heading for the glimmering building ahead.

The receptionist lazily looked up from her paperwork at him, did a triple take at his appearance, and hastily scrambled over the desk. He figured the sight of a frail little porcelain child—practically a baby by porcelain standards if he was honest, but hey—tied up and filthy would get _some_ sort of reaction. Indeed it did. He was freed and Elder Kettle was called—something he hadn’t expected, but it must have been due to the small size of the Isles giving someone in the hive the knowledge that he and Cuphead were under Elder Kettle’s care.

Rumor was less pleasant, well aware he and his sibling were on a debtor hunt. But see, Mugman hadn’t spent years honing his cuteness to get Elder Kettle to give the two of them that one extra sweet for nothing. It also helped that it was between the soft little child with painful but manageable shots and the demon snoozing away outside who’d left a path of destruction on Isle two. She ultimately handed it over simply because she would rather use whatever time she had left to work and set her staff up for success in her absence than fight. It also helped that he was honey-sweet.

What killed the pep in Mugman’s step was the fearful shake of Elder Kettle’s voice drifting over from where he’d left Cuphead. The thing was _staring_ at Elder Kettle as the poor man weakly tried to ask what had happened while he’d been off searching for any way to help his boys. Elder Kettle clearly knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know how wrong it was. Mugman immediately stepped in as the hands on his sibling started to glow a threatening hue of violet mixed with red and gold.

“Elder Kettle!” He called out, voice high and happy as could be, he crossed the distance, leaping up so Elder Kettle instinctively had to catch him. “Elder Kettle look!” He held up Rumor’s contract, keeping it between Cuphead and the metal kettle whistling in distress. “Isn’t that great? We’re doing a wonderful job aren’t we? The sun hasn’t even fully set!” Elder Kettle clutched him tightly to his chest, likely trying to find comfort in one of his children not being demonically possessed and blatantly hostile towards him.

“I…” He started, voice creaky, “It is indeed Mugman. I was in the middle of reading a bit of…” He drifted off, fearfully glancing at the child still sitting deceptively still on the bench. “Interesting things about how you might have a chance of—of not getting smashed when you definitely return the contracts.” Mugman nodded eagerly, trying to keep his caretaker’s eyes on him. He wasn’t too sure whether he’d be enough of a shield to protect Elder Kettle, but if the thing couldn’t hurt him due to the deal it had made, he was going to take full advantage.

“Oh absolutely, wouldn’t want all of this to be for nothing!” He motioned for Elder Kettle to continue, tossing the contract back so it became the center of the things focus.

“Well, see now those contracts are boosting you up… and all this here fighting and what have you, why I bet you’ll be able to run in, uh, drop off the contracts, and escape with the deal complete! Be-because as we all know, the Devil isn’t one to uh, go back on his word…” Elder Kettle’s voice strained as the man forced it through a frozen throat.  Mugman nodded in thought, humming, legs gently swaying in the air.

“I think you might be right! Why, I reckon we’ll be the fastest delivery boys in Inkwell by the time we get back in there! Isn’t that right Cuphead?” The thing gave but a single nod, a jerky, unstable one. It only served to make Elder Kettle clutch Mugman tighter to his side, turning his body ever so slightly to shield Mugman. Mugman however, was less than content to let the thing continue scaring their caretaker. He squirmed out of the tight hold, snatching Cuphead’s hand up and heaving the other up.

“Well these debtors aren’t going to throw contracts at us if we just sit around, we should keep going. I want to know why there’s a robot on here and not the creator of the robot.” With that, he deftly swept past the trembling hand Elder Kettle extended out toward him, more than aware the thing was taking sadistic glee in scaring the Elder so much.

“The collective conscious of all things lost in the sofa cushions.” He spoke up enough Elder Kettle could hear him as he pulled Cuphead away. The entity immediately went from outright terrifying to deadpan, shoulders slumping in renewed defeat at the resurgence of the game.

“I swear you aren’t even trying.”

====-====-=====-====

Mugman missed the good ol’ hours of Isle one and part of Isle Two when it was fun to try and chase the thing out by frustrating it. Instead, it was now taking all that built up frustration out on the debtors. The robot was torn to shreds, Kahl only barely escaped with his life when Mugman purposefully stepped in the way of falling debris from the fight. The thing had been forced to rescue him, leaving the sobbing, bloody creator to weakly clutch at the remains of the creation with the one arm that wasn’t broken.

The entity was brutal, tearing through Werner’s tricks mercilessly, tearing into the rat so badly the ghost rats wound up shielding the man while Mugman desperately dragged him away from the unmoving debtor. It was likely only due to the fact that Mugman had actually started crying that the other let him. It was outright horrifying to see him use the plane to sheer off Cala Maria’s snakes, toying with her before shredding her eyes with shots bathed in unholy fire. He’d taken that chance to try talking Brineybeard into passing over the contract, pointing weakly to a hectic battle taking place in the sea as an example of what would happen.

Brineybeard, confident in his crew, had rejected his peace offering. If the thing hadn’t let off a horrifying shot that disintegrated the canon fire let off by the ship, Mugman was sure he would be hurting something fierce. The furious sneer turned on him hurt all the same, sending a bolt of fear through his soul. So much so that Mugman took advantage of Brineybeard insulting his sibling, getting the thing’s attention, to flee. He sprint through the town, ducking into the mausoleum when a wave of pure anger washed over Isle Three.

He would have returned to the die house, only he was quite certain that while the thing wouldn’t think to look there, King Dice wouldn’t be all that keen to see him again. So the mausoleum was his second best bet. The ghosts took one look at him, at Chalice’s black coloration, the _casual_ way she tapped the spear against the floor, and bailed. She not only offered him up a comforting bit of reassurance, but gave him a boost of strength and passed over a bunch of coins she’d found some random man scattering around in the dirt.

“Finder’s keepers! Go get yourself something to keep you chugging along, sweet one. I’ll stay here in case he comes around.” She kissed him on the forehead and shooed him out the door towards the shop. Porkrind happily offered up a handful of new shots he’d scrounged out of the back, even adding in some sugar and coffee ‘strong enough to melt through bank vaults’. Mugman tucked his trinkets away, feeling his soul wheeze for some form of rest, and exited the shop right into a red faced Cuphead.

Instead of saying anything, Mugman meekly ducked his head, gesturing for Cuphead to lead. Cuphead snatched his wrist, eyes blazing a trail in the fading light of the sun.

“ _Do that again, and your brother can throw whatever tantrum he wants, but I will break your legs and drag you to Devil._ ”

Mugman only nodded, keeping his shoulders tucked forward, making him smaller than usual. Still not trusting the other, Cuphead dragged him to the theater. Sally Stageplay apparently hadn’t been all that happy Cuphead basically ripped the doors off her building, but she’d gone down just the same as the others. Mugman felt wave after wave of pure fatigue pull on him, making it difficult to do anything to help her. He still tried, barely managing to coax Cuphead into leaving, using the reason of ‘but wouldn’t it be mighty impressive if we got it done a day before the deadline? Please, brother.’

The thing ultimately shrugged, taking interest in the potential sleight to Devil’s rather generous timeframe. Sally sent him a dazed but thankful look, well aware the only reason she was even conscious enough to do so was because of the child looking two seconds from just dropping in a dead faint. He hadn’t looked back, the need for rest slowly building into a new stage that all in the household learned to avoid at all costs.

Possessed and frazzled and fearful as he was, there was no way for Cuphead to pick up on it enough for the thing to take note. Besides, the train was up ahead, and gee, didn’t Mugman just _love_ train’s, it bet that would put a smile back on his face.

====-====-====-=====

It didn’t. The way Blind Specter shrieked in horror as fire ripped at him, tearing across his ethereal frame; the way the Blaze Brothers cowered under the wrathful rain of shots evidently stronger due to the gift given to Mugman translating over to Cuphead as well; T-bone losing his jaw from one solid blow, yet still desperately trying to keep them from Hott who powered on ahead… It pulled at Mugman. Cuphead, while a bit rough at times, wasn’t usually so violent. He wouldn’t be wearing a bloodthirsty grin that was for sure. The edge of sluggish energy was approaching rapidly, faster than Hott handed over the contract the moment he caught sight of the cargo he was pulling. He’d let out a series of distressed whistles, brakes screeching as he struggled to barter for just a moment-just a moment _please_ the contract is right—please _please don’t hurt my crew._

All contracts in hand, Cuphead dragged his mechanically moving sibling, taking it as Mugman’s new way of showing displeasure in what it was doing.

Now, the entity wasn’t exactly stuck in a rage at Mugman anymore, having simmered down as the beatings commenced. It could readily admit the previous antics were quite funny, hilarious even! Something to tell Devil. This new version was less fun, and it hoped the fight it knew was brewing would perk the other up. The casino was right bright in the shadowed entrance of Hell, gleaming like a siren at them. Hell hummed out a low tune, not minding it much when the tune wasn’t matched quite yet.

When King Dice came out to meet them, and tell them ‘boss isn’t ready yet, so we’ll have a game first. That, and I lost a bet, so consider yourselves on my shit-list.’

Mugman remained silent, blankly staring at King Dice as he was pulled in by an eager Cuphead.

“Don’t get too eager, you won’t be fighting, that’d just be harsh to my workers. Much as I loathe Mr. Wheezy, I ain’t keen on finding another pit boss willing to set themselves on fire to scare away the peskier drunks.” The thing frowned then, and though King Dice felt a coil of fear drape itself across his very being, he stuck to it.

Only, when the blue one just stared at the pink die, gaze devoid of everything, he got a rather worrying feeling in his soul. Mugman eventually reached out and smacked the die. It landed, and he was dropped into a void. The frown on the thing grew.

“He’s part of the deal I have, he gets hurt, and there won’t be enough glue in the world to fix what I do to you.” It hissed, hellfire flickering in wisps around him. King Dice would have gotten a smidge nervous, but then came the screaming. They both turned their attention to the track where Mugman had been sent to. A series of panicked cries, blasts that sent fireballs up from below, and Mugman was back with a hell horse at his side. It looked like it had just gone through a glue factory and learned exactly what its mortal version was used as, all wide-eyed and shivering beside an entirely blank porcelain child. King Dice opened his mouth, and the blank gaze turned to him.

“I’m going to name him Mr. Flipple.” Came a voice equally devoid of everything. It was right about then that the host of the other body began slamming on the panic button. There was no way for the thing to react, as the pink die was knocked again, and Cuphead was dropping into a void, only at that moment remembering how King Dice’s magic worked.

Pirouletta flat out dove out a window to escape him, gracefully backflipping out with but a wave to King Dice as she bailed. Mugman’s turn came again, and he and Mr. Flipple found themselves in front of a magician. No one but the magician knew what happened during that fight. All anyone else knew was that the curtains no longer slid closed and Hopus couldn’t stand being near anything remotely porcelain for more than three seconds before falling into a pathetic sobbing heap.

King Dice began to feel real terror tap on his shoulder, gleefully telling him how shitty an idea this had been. But Devil was still running around like an idiot and he hadn’t had time to tell Devil where the missing familiar had gone. So he was stuck watching Pip and Dot be thrown through the wall near where Pirouletta had smashed through a window. Then watch as a Hell horse aided a tiny child in striking pure animalistic fear in Mangosteen. And finally watch as the dial hit finish, and the barrier guarding him fall, leaving him defenseless.

He wondered what it meant that he gladly took the fight to the red cup instead of the statuesque child absentmindedly petting a horse covered in Mangosteen’s blood.

====-====-====-====

The tower doors were slammed open, and Devi in all his glory stood before them. Except. it was more Devil’s ass hanging over the throne in the center of the room as various trinkets from inside the cushion flew out. The thing cleared its throat, and felt a void-like gaze descend on him. Only it wasn’t from Devil. He felt his host break into hysterical breaths, now just sitting on the panic button.

“What? Wh—” Devil froze, staring at Cuphead. “Oh, you antiquated bag of dicks.”

“Hey now, I felt it was better that you get the contracts than gain a couple of extra hands.” It was hard but not impossible to keep a steady, confident stance. Devil glared at him, tail lashing with vitriol in sharp motions behind him.

“You’re just lucky I managed to beat down the rowdy bastards before they ruined the bar. Now pass em over an quit talkin through the kid, it’s weird.” The thing struggled to force a heavily resistant body to move. And it had almost placed the contracts in an outstretched hand when Devil’s attention was caught by whatever was behind him.

‘Don’t turn around, please, I just got over the last string of nightmares.’

Ignoring his host, he turned around, and there stood Mugman with a blank face and Cagney’s contract in hand.

“And that one, come on I ain’t got all day. Got people to torment and contracts to make.”

“Keeping them then?” The thing asked lightly, violently stomping down the panicked host. A flicker of its true form wavered in the air behind him as it did so. But it didn’t see any harm in letting the other see who had been playing puppeteer so the Pitchfork popped into full existence, spinning lightly behind Cuphead.

“Well what else was going to happen? I wasn’t going to let em just walk out of here!”

“Mr. Flipple, it seems as though Mr. Devil is saying something quite silly.” Mugman’s voice, something the Pitchfork had gotten used to being full of emotion, was the exact opposite now. Devoid of everything, the tiny child turned empty eyes on the horse. The horse which broke into a sweat and nodded readily.

“Uh…” Devil’s ears fell back, as if he was picking up the same thing the pitchfork was.

“We don’t like people who lie by omission do we Mr. Flipple.”

Mr. Flipple neighed.

It sounded nervous.

“That’s right Mr. Flipple, people that do such a thing are indeed terrible.”

The air in Hell dropped in temperature significantly enough even those in the traumatized casino shivered. Hell stopped humming smoothly.

“I mean… It uh, you trying to say you aren’t gonna follow with the deal?” Devil tried. Mugman ignored him, turning an empty gaze on Cuphead.

“Please vacate my sibling. Elder Kettle said we can’t associate with bad influences.” The pitchfork hummed, and the part of it still confident in its strength forced a haughty grin onto Cuphead’s face.

“Now that’s just silly. It ain’t like working here is the end of the road!”

“Mr. Flipple, you’ve heard me ask politely, correct?”

Mr. Flipple neighed.

It was definitely nervous.

So, the pitchfork decided a show of force was in hand. It’s true body shot at Mugman, and Mugman just shifted. Tines embedded in the floor, it figured that was a good start. That is, until the tiny mortal with frail arms picked it up.

“Mr. Flipple is upset you’ve lied. I don’t like when Mr. Flipple is upset.”

Then, as they all watched, Mugman put _force into his grip._ The Pitchfork, made of magic and metal, sturdy enough to smack into numerous things and come out leaving the thing dented, _started to bend._ The thing in Cuphead blanched, panic now crashing into it as well. Still, Mugman continued to stare blankly ahead at Cuphead.

“Do you know what I do to people that make Mr. Flipple upset?” Mugman asked, steady hands continuing to add pressure. The Pitchfork took a step forward, hands out in an imploring manner.

“Uh, now Mugman, that uh, you don’t really—ow, owowowow! Okay wait! Let’s talk about this!”

“Mr. Flipple? Should we talk about this?”

Mr. Flipple neighed, and the Pitchforks true body was instantly bent into a U shape. Metal shrieked, Hell shrieked, Devil fainted, and the possession was ended in favor of doing anything and everything to regain some semblance of control. Where there should have been a soul to dig into, there was only a void of pure nothingness. The Pitchfork stared into the void, and the void shakily pointed behind it at the true horror.

Mugman tilted his head just a hint, enough for his straw to slide to the lower side.

The void shrieked in horror, hiked up its endless skirts, and hauled it out of dodge.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead groaned, clutching his head weakly as his soul struggled to fully right itself. The first thing it did upon remembering the past day was rip open his eyes and scan for the largest threat. He was in Djimmi’s pyramid it seemed, based on the warm sun and sand below the carpet he laid on. Beside him was Mugman. Once he realized Mugman was deep asleep, he almost sobbed with relief. Djimmi perked up, floating over the city as he was, he gave Cuphead the look of someone who had also seen the thing that was Cranky Mugman.

Cuphead pitied Djimmi, really, he did. He didn’t have memories of what happened in Hell, but considering he was fine, Djimmi was fine, the hell horse was fine, Cuphead figured more sleep was best. He’d ask questions later.

====-====-====-=====

Being hugged near to a coma wasn’t exactly Cuphead’s favorite way of waking up, but considering it was a dearly worried sibling, he figured it could be worse. The debtors kept thanking them as they went to return home, eager for more rest. Mugman walked with a hearty pep in his step, Cuphead had gotten the all clear from Djimmi and felt good as new. He still got scolded by Mugman for recklessly agreeing to something without a definite out… _again._ But the scolding was done while he was hugged and doted on. He promised to keep his mouth shut the moment any type of bet or offer was put down in front of him and let Mugman, the impulse control of the two of them, handle it.

Mugman was pleased, the debtors were thankful and equally doting. Though many notably tended to stay closer to Mugman. Cuphead didn’t need to ask to understand why, he knew well and good what he’d done to a few of them. They warmed up to him eventually anyway.

All was good in their little world, from the various people on Inkwell, to their quaint home, even their new horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll edit later, i'm still laughing at it.  
> And yes, Mr.Flipple is indeed a reference to something else. It relates to a TV show. No, I'm not telling you unless you try guessing first.
> 
> So which did you like more? Possesssed Mugs or possessed Cuphead?


End file.
